


Just Don't Run Away

by Sunfall_of_Ennien



Series: My Stories [5]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Caretaking, First Time, Hurt Merlin (Merlin), Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, M/M, Pining, Sex Magic, Whipping, Whump, slow burn?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-07-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:20:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 34,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24062008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfall_of_Ennien/pseuds/Sunfall_of_Ennien
Summary: While it is Arthur's actions that incite the wrath of King Uther, it is Merlin's mouth--and his loyalty to Arthur--that get him into trouble.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: My Stories [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089842
Comments: 156
Kudos: 539





	1. A Just Price

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Ealdor, Arthur must face the consequences for disobeying his father, the King. Merlin has his back, as always, but shows more courage than wisdom.

The journey from Ealdor back to Camelot was lighthearted for the most part, except from time to time when Merlin fell into one of his long silences and the conversation inevitably petered out. Against King Uther's express command, Morgana, Gwen, Arthur, and Merlin had traveled to the tiny village where Merlin grew up to defend it against vicious bandits. Just as their triumph seemed secure, the dying bandit chief fired a crossbow bolt at Arthur. And Will, gentle Will, sarcastic Will, Merlin's one childhood friend had leapt in front of the prince. He fell with a black feathered bolt in his chest. Merlin stayed with him until the end. It was not a loss that would quickly heal.

But Ealdor was safe. And Merlin's mother Hunith was safe. So there was cause to celebrate still.

As the four horses approached the city gates, guards in Camelot's livery stepped forward and halted them. 

"His Majesty the King requires your presence, Prince Arthur. Lady Morgana, you are requested to retire to your chambers for the evening."

Arthur and Morgana exchanged a look. Morgana had needled him into going, but Arthur was the one who disregarded a direct order from his father. They both knew what type of reception he was likely to face. "Good luck, Arthur," Morgana said earnestly. Gwen caught his eye and bobbed her head and the two women advanced into the city.

"Well, Merlin," said Arthur, "Let's get this over with."

\-------------

"How could you countenance abandoning the city, risking the life of the first knight and crown prince of Camelot, and jeopardizing the very treaties that keep our lands secure? Were you anyone else, this would be grounds for treason! You acted against my express command. You have betrayed me as a subject--and as a son. Have you anything to say for yourself?" The king's bellow echoed through the great hall.

"Your majesty, I do not." Arthur bowed his head and lowered his eyes. "You are correct on every point and I accept your judgment. I did what I believed to be right, but that is not an excuse."

"Just so," Uther snapped. "You will be taken immediately to the dungeons. On the morrow you will face the lash as any common soldier would, for leaving your post. You will remain in the dungeons until I am satisfied that you have learned that you are _not_ yet the king, and you will subordinate yourself to my will, for the good of the kingdom."

"My lord," Arthur nodded, face impassive. He was expecting a something of this sort. The dungeons were nothing new. Tedious, somewhat embarrassing to miss training sessions with his knights and have his disgrace known. But the flogging...it wasn't that Arthur feared the pain. On the contrary, he was well-inured to physical suffering. But if he was truly to be punished like a common soldier, that punishment would be public. The humiliation burned inside him, but he swallowed hard and admitted to himself that it was a just price for the choice he had made in rescuing Ealdor.

"Guards," Uther called out, and gestured for them to remove Arthur. Two guards approached somewhat tentatively and seized the prince by his arms, turned, and marched him through the great wooden doors of the great hall. 

Merlin watched in disbelief. Arthur had risked shame and censure for him, for his mother, for his village. He must have expected this. Why hadn't Merlin imagined that there would be consequences, even--no, especially--for a king's son? 

_"No!"_

Merlin heard his voice ring out moments after the doors fell shut. For a moment, the reverberation of his shout was the only sound. Then absolute silence.

"You forget yourself." Uther spoke in a low, soft voice. A warning. Merlin knew to heed it.

"You're wrong," Merlin heard himself answer. 

Some part of Merlin was in panic. This was wildly stupid. This was a pointless act. This was dangerous. And yet another part of him continued, "Prince Arthur acted according to the highest standards of knighthood! He was every inch the man you've molded him to be. He risked everything to bring justice to the innocent people of my village, and you condemn him for his compassion?"

" _Insolent boy,"_ Uther exploded, "Be silent or you will join him in the dungeon! Of all the--"

"I would be proud to stand by Arthur's side, to take his place! He would do no less for any of his people. He's courageous and selfless and he stands up for what is right, and--and that's why he'll be the greatest king Camelot has ever known!"

His own words echoed in his ears and in the chamber. _"Merlin,_ " Gaius reprimanded. He didn't let himself respond to Gaius's voice or look him in the eye. He'd gone too far, and he knew it.

Uther's voice was steady, emotionless. "Very well. Have it your way. You would take Arthur's place? You can serve his sentence as well as your own. Twenty lashes. If you speak another word, it will be fifty--and I will dismiss you from Arthur's service myself. Guards! Get this wretched boy out of my sight!" The last words came out as a snarl.

Rough hands grabbed Merlin by the neck and arms. He had just enough time to catch Gaius's stricken face before he was marched from the hall. 

_I'm an idiot._

\-------------

Merlin knew how conspicuous he looked, locked between the guards' arms, marched at a quick pace through the corridors of the castle and down towards the dungeons. During his first week in Camelot, Merlin's encounters with Prince Arthur had earned him time in the cells, later commuted to a couple of memorable days in the stocks. But in those first few days no one but Gaius knew him. Now, as Arthur's personal manservant, Merlin was a well-known face around the castle and even in the lower town. He blushed to see the curiosity and surprise on the faces of servants and nobles. Gossip spread like wildfire through the castle, and he was sure his outburst and punishment would be common knowledge before the day was out.

It was something of a relief, therefore, when they reached the dungeons and the heavy wood and iron doors shut behind them. His relief was short-lived however, as the guards guided him past the first cell. " _Mer_ lin," Arthur shouted. "What in god's name are _you_ doing here?" 

"Er, well...I thought you might need some company? You don't handle boredom well, you know, sire." Merlin tried to keep his tone light. It wasn't going to work, and he knew it.

The barred door was unlocked and Merlin was shoved into the cell adjoining Arthur's. The heavy lock turned audibly, leaving Merlin and Arthur in the charge of the dungeon warden and his two men. Arthur gripped the bars and hissed towards Merlin's cell, "Out with it. What did you do? After I left, there must have been something."

Merlin hedged. "I think the king saw me as...partially responsible for your actions. It was my village, after all. It's only appropriate for me to be here, if you are." Why was he lying? He was already in the dungeon. Would it really be so much worse to have Arthur shout at him? But that wasn't it, Merlin knew. He didn't want to admit the stupidity of his outburst, especially as Arthur would see it as idiotic, a lowly servant defending the crown prince of Camelot to his father the king. And deep down he wanted to spare Arthur knowing what the next morning would bring. He hadn't lied to Uther. He was proud to take Arthur's punishment, but Arthur wouldn't see it that way. He'd be angry at Merlin for interfering, for getting himself into trouble. And if Merlin were being entirely honest with himself, he knew that it would pain Arthur to know Merlin would suffer on his behalf. 

"Well that's just...that's...I'm sorry, Merlin. I didn't mean to drag you down with me. I knew what I was doing. You were only returning home to protect your mother. My father is wrong. I wish I could do something about it." Merlin could imagine Arthur's face. He always strove to make his father proud, yet there were many occasions Merlin could recall where Uther's decisions went against Arthur's heart. His father would never back down or apologize for those decisions, so Arthur did. Merlin was always proud of him, even as he wished Arthur wouldn't take that burden on himself. But right now he burned with shame, knowing that his lie prompted Arthur's unnecessary apology. 

"It's not...it isn't worth worrying about," Merlin brushed his apology aside, "This is just a vacation. No bringing you your royal breakfast, no scrubbing your royal breeches, no polishing your royal armor..." Merlin trailed off, maintaining his easygoing tone. He slid silently down the stone wall connecting his cell with Arthur's, a sinking feeling in his stomach. This farce would be short-lived, he knew, but he also felt the courage to face either Arthur or the lash--not both. He wished his punishment could have been immediate. The time to anticipate being publicly flogged was torture in itself. Then again--a weak laugh escaped him--that was probably the point. 

"Hah. You admit it. You just wanted a day off!"

"That's what I'm saying. If it takes being thrown in the deepest dungeons of Camelot to get some peace and quiet, well...it's just too bad I have a prat for a cellmate."

"Merlin, you can't address me that way, even down here." It was bait, and Merlin knew it. 

"Sorry, a _royal_ prat."

"That's better," and Arthur's voice finally held some warmth. He smiled to himself. As little as he wanted Merlin to share in his punishment, his presence was an unexpected relief. Princes couldn't have friends, and if they did, a lowly servant would hardly be an appropriate choice. But as his mind stretched back to Merlin's easy joy in Ealdor, embracing Will, he ached a little to imagine the feeling of a friendship so close. Morgana was the closest person he had to a childhood friend, but there was nothing easygoing about their relationship, even though he loved her like a sister. And even if he would have preferred to never admit it, his heart betrayed the truth: Merlin was more than his manservant. He _was_ his friend--his only friend. No one else knew his mind and his moods so well, no one cared for him with such naked devotion, no one joked with him like Merlin, and certainly no one else would speak the absolute truth to him regardless of consequence. It was infuriating and Arthur relied upon it with his entire being. 

Arthur mirrored Merlin unconsciously, sliding down the wall to sit with his back against it. He could feel the young man's presence even through the stone. Tomorrow would be unpleasant, but he no longer felt alone. Until Merlin bumbled into his life, Arthur hadn't realized just how alone he'd always been. Strange that Merlin's presence could lighten his heart so much. Suddenly his father's fury felt like any other time he'd broken the rules and been caught. Just the cost of an adventure, a just price for an act of freedom.

The other young man didn't speak again and silence fell, but it was, for Arthur, a lighter silence. He was simply grateful for Merlin's company.

\-------------

"Arthur?"

"Mmm?"

"How do you train the knights to...well, I mean, not just to fight, because that's obvious. You just wallop them about the head all morning...but--"

"Merlin?"

"Sire?"

"What are you wittering on about?"

"It's fine, forget about it."

Their conversations had risen and fallen over the long hours stretching into night. For once, Arthur did most of the talking. Merlin responded for his part, but Arthur sensed his manservant's chatty tongue was suppressed. He could imagine the reason. Merlin had lost his best friend back in Ealdor. Arthur couldn't even imagine what that was like. Unbidden came an image of Merlin stretched out on a shabby table, bleeding out from a crossbow bolt in his skinny chest, dying as Will had died. Arthur shook his head to clear it. The thought of losing Merlin...it was too painful to consider. He frowned. The strength of his reaction startled him. No, of course Merlin was quiet. Arthur wished he knew how to offer comfort, but that wasn't the way of their relationship, and Arthur couldn't imagine any words would help anyway. Selfishly, though, Arthur missed Merlin's incessant talk.

The silence stretched out between them. Arthur broke it first.

"Well, go on then. It's not like I have anything better to do tonight than listen to your mindless prattle."

"Thanks for that."

Merlin hesitated again, searching for the words. "Well, how do you train them to face an actual battle? All that waiting for something, knowing you could get hurt or maimed. Or killed. I mean, you can't run them through drills for that, can you? How do you teach them not to be afraid?"

"Are you considering becoming a knight, Merlin? I'd no idea you were so inspired by all those training exercises and tourneys. I suppose it's only natural, but I don't think you're _quite_ cut out of the right cloth for knighthood. You're not a noble for one thing. And you can't even hunt without crying. And--"

"Oh alright! It was just a question to pass the time."

Arthur had been enjoying himself, but he couldn't miss the genuine frustration in Merlin's voice. He thought carefully.

"Well...I don't. Teach them not to be afraid, that is."

"I don't understand. Are knights just like that? Just, not scared like everybody else?"

"Merlin, I thought you knew this one by now. E _veryone_ gets scared."

"You? Get scared?"

Arthur stretched his back against the wall, acutely aware of Merlin on the opposite side. He let the teasing edge fall from his voice and said, softly, "You're scared every time. It would be madness to be unafraid of pain and death. And a madness is not a good quality in a knight. No, any reasonably intelligent man feels fear. It's not the absence of fear that makes my knights courageous. It's the willingness to face the battle anyway."

"So you can't teach me--er, someone, a knight--not to be afraid."

"Afraid not."

"So what _do_ you tell them?"

Arthur paused and considered. "Don't run away. That's the first rule. Your knees can knock and your heart can pound but that doesn't matter. Stand your ground. Don't run away. You could--I mean, _someone_ could start there."

From the other side of the wall came only silence.

"Still there, Merlin?"

His ears strained to catch a response. Instead he heard a deep sigh, almost like a sob. After a time Merlin answered in a low voice tinged with wry humor, "You know, you might be right. I'm not sure I'm cut out to be a knight of Camelot. Then again, I wash your dirty socks. A weaker man might run away, but you have a very brave servant."

Arthur smiled. You never knew, with Merlin. One moment he'd chatter away about Cook's dog's newborn litter of puppies and the next moment he might ask something unexpectedly profound, or say something suspiciously like...wisdom? It was perhaps Arthur's favorite quality in his gawky, peculiar, sensitive, big-eared manservant. George excelled in every area a proper servant should, but between Merlin's nonsense and George's penchant for jokes about brass, well...it wasn't ever really a competition. 

The minutes stretched out. Arthur found himself unexpectedly sleepy. As uninviting as the straw and stone were, he was able to lay down in moderate comfort. He found himself waiting for Merlin to speak again. When he didn't, Arthur guessed he'd drifted off. Figured. He'd caught Merlin napping in some strange places, and he never seemed to be kept from sleep on hunting trips and quests. 

"Goodnight, Merlin," Arthur murmured.

Silence answered him.

The night stretched on.

\-------------

On the other side of the wall, Merlin was not asleep. On the contrary, he resented how wakeful he felt. His thoughts raced. He wished the morning would come. Anything would be better than this. In his mind's eye, he struggled to picture the coming trial. He would have given anything to face the lash in the dark of the dungeons. The idea of being brought before a crowd though was terrifying. What if he couldn't control himself? What if he struggled, or worse, blubbered right there in front of everyone? He'd been injured many times since coming to Camelot, but always in the service of Arthur and his destiny. Always in the heat of the moment. This was far worse, with so much time to picture the pain and the shame of it all. In his mind's eye the images unfolded again and again. A slow march towards the scaffold. The laughter of the crowd. And what came next? His imagination failed him, then. 

And so the night passed. Merlin repeated Arthur's advice over and over, as his guts churned with anticipation. The long hours slipped away, bringing morning inevitably to them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know George doesn't make an appearance for some time in canon, but he's just too good a foil to resist. I like to think that George's perfectionism is as much an established presence in Camelot as Merlin's perennial clumsiness.


	2. The Hard Light of Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With daylight, Merlin's wait is over. If he can only be brave like Arthur...

The night passed sleeplessly for Merlin. Not so for Arthur, judging by the familiar snore from the next cell.

From somewhere above them came the echoes of heavy boots. Merlin scrambled to his feet. Arthur rose, slower and more deliberately, his mouth set in a thin line. Two guards marched side by side down the curving stairs. As they came into view, Arthur quipped, "Alright, Merlin. I won't be a moment." The guards approached and Arthur straightened his back, unconsciously lifting his chin to meet their eyes. 

Only their eyes didn't meet his. They nodded curtly and turned past him to unlock the heavy bars to the next cell. 

Merlin stood still and waited for them. As the door opened, one guard reached for his hands. Merlin extended both arms and shivered as the cold iron manacles clicked into place around his skinny wrists. 

"What the hell is going on?" Arthur demanded, from the next cell. Merlin couldn't help half-smiling to himself. Even a prince's indignation would not change what came next, as much as he wished it could. Arthur would be angry. And then it would be over. He just had to...not run away. _Don't run away._ Well, it wasn't like he had much choice after all.

Firmly, but not roughly, they marched him through the open door. He kept his eyes trained on the ground ahead of his feet. 

"Where are you taking him? What are you doing? I demand that you answer me."

"Pardon, sire," the first guard replied apologetically. "Orders of the king."

Merlin couldn't help it. He let his eyes slide sideways to Arthur's face, red and frowning. Arthur pressed himself against the bars. "Merlin. Merlin!"

_I'm sorry_ , he mouthed. Arthur caught his glance, uncomprehending.

Then they were turning away from the cells, up the stairs, towards the inevitable.

"MERLIN!"

Merlin took a deep breath as they approached the heavy wooden doors. Sunlight poured in, blinding him, and he stumbled out into the day. Arthur's muffled voice cut off abruptly as the doors shut behind them. _I'm sorry_ , he thought again.

\-------------

The guards led him off to a side courtyard. Merlin released the breath he'd been unconsciously holding. Not the main square, not the platform where he'd witnessed the execution of Thomas Collins that first exhilarating, terrifying day in Camelot. Here was a lower platform, simple, with a central post and a railing. There was a crowd too, but not the endless rows his imagination had conjured. Perhaps threescore people in all were gathered. Merlin suddenly felt lightheaded and clumsier than ever. He shuffled his feet between the guards and tried to focus on the four wooden steps leading up to the platform. _Don't fall. Don't blub. Don't look around. Don't fall. Don't blub..._

The guards slipped their arms under his and steered him through the crowd. Despite his injunction to himself, Merlin's eyes darted around the crowd. He knew most of these faces. They were palace staff, servants. Cook was here too, arms folded across her chest. Oh god. Gwen. Of course Gwen would be here. Thankfully he didn't catch sight of Gaius. He didn't think he could face it, knowing the man who loved him like a son was watching. He willed his eyes front. _Don't fall. Don't blub. Don't look around. Don't fall. Don't blub. Don't run away._

And then he was at the steps, climbing them, marching towards the central post. In spite of the sunny day, Merlin shivered. _Just don't run away_. A strong hand around the back of his neck turned him to face the crowd. His cheeks burned with humiliation. The guard's voice was strangely muffled in his ears. He heard the words _insubordination to the Crown_ , but the rest was drowned in the murmurs of the crowd. _How stupid they must think me._ _They're right. Stupid, impulsive, stupid..._

And then hands were guiding him, turning him away from the crowd towards the central post. "'Ere, boy," a guard grunted. "You won't want this ruined." He felt his shirt tugged over his head, ruffling his hair and pooling at his shoulders. He hadn't pictured this somehow, but already it was happening. He felt eyes on him from all sides. He was keenly aware of his skinny frame, his protruding ribs, the muscles twitching in his back. The guards raised his arms above his head by the manacles. He felt the heavy chain connecting them catch on a hook above his head. 

Sunlight beat down. Exposed as he felt, Merlin was grateful that his face was hidden from the crowd. He rested his forehead on the splintered wood...and waited. The guards withdrew. There were no murmurs from the crowd now. The morning was so still he could hear the lazy hum of insects entirely unconcerned with the spectacle unfolding in the middle of the small courtyard. 

He heard the stroke a fraction of a second before it landed. White hot pain exploded across his back. In his mind's eye he could trace the precise journey of braided leather. He choked off the cry that clawed its way up his throat. 

_One_.

The second stroke crossed the first. Where they intersected, Merlin felt the flesh tear. He gasped for air, suddenly feeling hot and trapped. The third lash raced along his right side, catching him across the back of his neck. The tender skin broke and Merlin felt blood mixed with sweat slip down his spine. The fourth and fifth caught him along the left side, overlaying each other. Another stroke fell. Another. And another. Relentlessly the whip descended, and now there was no path along his back untouched by fire. _Nine. Ten._ This time Merlin could not contain himself. His cry split the unnatural silence. Humiliation, pain filled his eyes with tears. He screwed his eyes tightly closed and willed them not to fall. _Oh gods. Only halfway._ In the moment before the next lash fell, an image filled his mind of Arthur in his place. Arthur would not have cried out. Arthur would not be fighting back tears. Merlin steeled himself.

The welts that crisscrossed his back were like constellations connecting points of fire. As the eleventh stroke fell, Merlin's legs buckled. This stripe tore cleanly up his back, opening along its entire length. Merlin felt suddenly nauseous. Beneath his skin, he could feel the magic surge, trying to protect him. It felt so _wrong_ to choke it down. _Twelve_. This time Merlin lost control and arched away from the lash. Sweat stung along each stripe. _Thirteen._ He hated himself for jerking like a fish on a line, but his muscles no longer obeyed him. _Fourteen_. Merlin was panting now, sharp animal breaths. _Fifteen_. A sob escaped his lips. 

_Please_ , he prayed to any god that might heed him. _Don't let me pass out. Don't let me scream._ The next two strokes fell fast on the same side, and now blood trickled down his back from his shoulders to his waist. _Eighteen_. He cried out with every stroke now, helpless now to do more than bite off the end of the screams that longed to escape his throat. _Nineteen_. His shoulders shook uncontrollably. _Please, please, just let me stay conscious._

The final lash fell with a crack, wrapping partway around his side and tearing a line across his chest. Merlin sagged in his bonds. It was over. If he could only make it back through the crowd without fainting. He pictured the welcome dark of the dungeon, away from the sea of faces that surrounded him. _Arthur_. 

And then they were on either side of him again, lifting his chains free from the hook. Merlin's legs buckled and the guards caught him under the arms. The pain was unyielding. It throbbed with the beat of his heart and threatened to overwhelm him. His feet struggled to find purchase and keep up with the guards' pace as they marched him towards the crowd. Sparks danced at the edges of his vision but he willed the darkness to retreat. He became aware of the tears streaming freely down his face, mingling with sweat, pooling at his throat and collarbones.

_Gwen_. He wished he hadn't looked up. She was crying openly on the shoulder of another servant woman. That was when he realized that he hadn't heard the crowd at all. All night long in his imagination they'd jeered at him, but he didn't see laughter in the handful of faces that swam before his vision as the guards marched relentlessly on. They turned and the crowd disappeared. Now the doors loomed in front of him. Now they opened and Merlin stepped into darkness. His back was in agony, but the cool of the dungeon was a welcome change from the mid-morning sun. Just the stairs and a dozen yards separated him from his cell. _And Arthur_ , he thought. He could hold himself together that long. _Just a little further._

He sagged between the guards as he lost consciousness.

\-------------

Arthur had been pacing his cell for the last half hour. What had that blasted idiot done? Where had he been taken? If he were going to be released, why the manacles? And why had Merlin mouthed those words. _I'm sorry_. Arthur swung his fist at the stone wall and immediately regretted it, as the skin over his knuckles split. Then he did it again. And again.

Footsteps. Arthur rushed towards the bars of his cell. Minutes seemed to pass as he waited for boots to appear on the stairs. At last he saw them. Black, heavy, they flanked familiar brown boots. Boots that dragged and did not walk. As they came into view, Arthur's stomach turned. Between them, Merlin swayed, bare-chested and dripping with sweat and... _gods_. _Merlin's back_. The sorry procession reached the base of the steps and Arthur's eyes confirmed what he already knew. His idiot manservant, his only friend, his... _Merlin._ The rake-thin boy was torn to ribbons and stumbling, barely conscious, between guards whose strong hands kept him from falling. 

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur bellowed. The guards looked up but they both avoided direct eye contact with the prince. Merlin's head jerked but dropped forward again. They began to pass his cell door. " _Wait_ ," Arthur commanded. The guards froze. "Put him in here. With me."

Shifting uncomfortably, the taller guard murmured, "Your highness..."

"Did my father's orders specify that I be held in solitary confinement?" The guards looked at each other uncertainly. "Him?" They shook their heads silently. "I am the crown prince. In a few days I will be out of here. You will still be in these dungeons, and I will still be the crown prince. Now bring him _in here_." 

They halted in front of his cell and a third guard unlocked the bars. As the guards dragged him inside, Merlin lifted his head. His black hair was slick with sweat. His eyes were wet with tears. His face looked even paler than usual. He met Arthur's eyes wordlessly. Unlocking his manacles, the guards released their hold on him and Merlin fell forward into Arthur's arms. Arthur ignored the retreating guards and the heavy clunk of the locked door. Merlin's torso was slippery in his arms. His lips brushed Arthur's ear. "I'm sorry."

"Hush. Idiot. Help me get you down." Merlin reached out an arm for the support of the stone wall as Arthur guided him to the floor. He leaned heavily against the wall along his left side and stayed there for minutes without moving. His breathing was ragged and seemed to catch with every intake. 

Arthur watched him and shook his head. "Gods, Merlin. What did they do to you?"


	3. Healing Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur share a cell. After Merlin is flogged he needs medical care. Arthur finds himself uncharacteristically inexperienced and simultaneously aware of just how much caretaking Merlin does for him.

Merlin didn't answer. He sagged against the wall, his face hidden from Arthur.

"Merlin," Arthur called again, softly this time. "Merlin talk to me."

The bloodied shoulders shook in what might have been a sob and might have been laughter. Another long moment passed.

"Arthur, I think you were right." Merlin's voice, weak and muffled, reached him. Another ragged breath. "I don't think I'm cut out to be a knight."

Arthur reached for him. Merlin flinched away, turning his head further towards the wall. He angrily wiped his face with the heel of his hand, but Arthur could plainly see that he was shaking with the effort of holding back his tears. 

Arthur didn't know what to think. His impulse was to demand answers Merlin was clearly in no shape to give. _Why hadn't Arthur known this was going to happen?_ _Why in the name of the gods had Merlin been flogged? Why hadn't Arthur? Did his father really give this order, for an innocent man to be thrashed within an inch of his life?_ His thoughts coalesced on one memory from the night before. 

"You knew. All those questions you asked, about the knights...you knew this was coming."

Silence. A nod.

Arthur found himself on his feet, shouting at the huddled figure, " _Why didn't you tell me?_ Gods damn it, Merlin, _I could have stopped this!_ "

Merlin shifted against the wall, searching for the position that least hurt, and answered at last in a soft voice, "No, Arthur, I don't think you could have. This wasn't your fault. I...made a mistake. I did something stupid."

"You do that often enough as it is!" Arthur was aware that he was shouting, that he should not be shouting, but continued, "What else are you not telling me?"

The question made Merlin miserable. _Everything_ , he thought. _I'm lying about everything. To you, of all people. And I can't stop no matter how much you deserve the truth_. But he could answer this. He replied in the same low voice, "I may have...spoken out of turn. To your father. To the king. So it isn't your fault, okay? It's mine. Just leave it at that."

"I will not 'leave it at that', you lied to me, Merlin! What did you say, what could you possibly have said that lead to _this_?" 

"He was defending _you_ , Sire."

A voice from outside the cell answered him. There Gaius stood in long, faded red robes, carrying his medical bag. At his gesture, a guard approached the barred door and unlocked it, ushering the court physician inside. 

Gaius looked down at the pitiful heap on the floor. He shook his head and sighed deeply. "Merlin..."

Merlin did not move. He did not answer.

Gaius knelt stiffly. He looked over his shoulder and called out to the guards, reaching towards them a shallow bowl. "Fresh water. Take this and bring me fresh water. Quickly, now!" If the guards had hesitated over whether to obey the old man, Arthur's glare settled the matter. One scurried off and returned, carefully carrying the bowl and setting it inside the cell. 

"Gaius, what happened," asked Arthur as he struggled to regain his composure. 

"That foolish boy defended your actions, rather stridently," Gaius answered fondly. "He certainly gave Uther a piece of his mind. Pity it was at such a price. At one point Uther threatened him with fifty lashes." The last sentence was somber.

"That would be...that could be a death sentence," breathed Arthur.

"Your father, as you may have noticed, does not brook criticism. Now get down here and help me. Merlin. Merlin, I need you to answer me."

But Merlin remained worryingly silent. Arthur reached out a hand and turned Merlin's face towards his. It was bloodlessly pale, shimmering with sweat, and his breathing was fast and erratic. Merlin shivered uncontrollably and his eyes darted around the cell, pausing to rest on Arthur's face before losing focus again. 

Gaius frowned and muttered, "It's the shock setting in. He needs to lie down and get warm. It'll soon pass. Help me stretch him out on his side. Just get his head lower than his heart."

"Come on, Merlin. Gaius is here and you're going to be fine," Arthur coaxed. "In a few days you'll be polishing my armor. Just need to do as the good physician says." In the end it was due more to Arthur's strength than his persuasion that he successfully slid Merlin onto his side, his knees slightly drawn up and his arms wrapped around his own shoulders. Merlin cried out as he was moved. Arthur unbundled the cloak he'd been sleeping on and tucked it in across Merlin's chest and legs. He sat back on his heels, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. He'd rarely felt so useless. Incompetent, even. Merlin was a bleeding mess and Arthur couldn't even manage not to hurt him, let alone make himself useful. He touched Merlin's hands. They were icy cold. Arthur wrapped his strong hands around the slender fingers and willed heat to travel from his body to Merlin's. After interminable minutes, the shivering stopped and Merlin's breathing slowed, falling into a regular rhythm. While he was still pale, the lips were no longer blue-tinged and his hands were warm. His eyes no longer darted about but neither would he look at the two men on either side of him.

"My dear boy," Gaius murmured, "I need you to be brave for a little while longer. We need to clean your wounds before I can apply a salve. If you feel steady enough to sit back up, that would be helpful." Arthur's hands reached under Merlin's arms to support him as the young man pushed weakly against the ground and struggled to a sitting position, swaying slightly.

Gaius busied himself drawing items from his medical bag: several small towels, two amber bottles, a small spoon, and a wooden pot with a lid. One vial he uncorked and poured into the bowl of water. The other he measured into the spoon. 

"Here, Merlin. Drink this." Gaius raised the spoon to his chapped lips. Merlin opened them to accept the medicine. As he swallowed, Merlin's face contracted at the bitter taste.

"Good gods, Gaius, that's foul. What did you give me?" Merlin managed.

At the sound of his voice, the other two men visibly relaxed. 

"It's a tincture of poppy seed and willow bark," Gaius replied.

"For the pain," Merlin finished.

"Good lad. That's right. Now comes the hard part."

For the first time Merlin met Gaius' eyes. "The _hard part_?"

Gaius chuckled. "It won't be as bad as what you've been through already. But it won't be pleasant." He reached for the bowl of water, then withdrew his arm sharply and clutched his lower back. Gaius reached again but this time only made it half the distance before grunting in pain. 

Merlin and Arthur reacted in one voice: "Gaius, what's wrong?" 

"Oof. Just. Old age," he answered through clenched teeth. "Here, Arthur, give me a hand. I'll tell you what to do."

Obediently, Arthur followed his instructions. Fold the towel. Wet it. Wring it out. 

He hesitated.

"Go on, Arthur," Merlin spoke up, and lifted his eyes to meet Arthur's. "It's got to be done. It's okay."

Arthur pressed the cloth to Merlin's left shoulder where dark streaks of drying blood obscured the pattern of his injuries. Merlin hissed in pain, in spite of himself. Dabbing gently but firmly, Arthur lifted the cloth to see bright red stripes against pale skin. 

"The cold," Merlin said through clenched teeth, "Feels good."

Arthur lifted the cloth a little too quickly and it brushed roughly against Merlin's spine. "Aghh...not so good," Merlin cried out.

Arthur wetted the cloth again and repeated his earlier movements. He felt like an idiot. He liked to say he'd been trained to kill since birth, and certainly he could tie a tourniquet or set a dislocated shoulder, but he'd simply never been trained in this delicate work. He felt clumsy, which made him clumsier. As he worked his way across and down Merlin's back, exposing the path of the lash, Arthur shook his head. Ten, fifteen, _twenty_? He could count nearly every weal and cut. Merlin had stood twenty lashes.

Oh.

Ten for Merlin, Arthur understood, and ten for himself. Merlin groaned and Arthur realized he'd put too much pressure on the cloth. He dipped it again, and now the water was almost red. He became aware of Gaius' sharp eye on his work. The old man nodded his head in approval. A few minutes later, the curve of Merlin's back exposed a mass of raised lines and deep cuts.

"Now this salve." Gaius handed him the wooden pot. Inside was a greasy, greenish mixture that smelled strongly of medicinal herbs. "This needs to cover every part of his wounds. Gently as you can. It might not seem intuitive, but run the salve down the length of the cuts, not across the back."

Arthur dabbed two fingers in the pungent salve. Uncertainly, he touched the top of a long weal and jumped when Merlin jumped. 

Merlin bowed his head so that only his black curls and large ears showed above his arms. "It's okay. Go on. I can manage, but you can't stop just because it hurts. It makes it harder."

"Alright." Arthur pressed with a little more firmness and drew his fingers down Merlin's back, tracing the mark. Then he did it again. And again. _Gods, there were so many._

At last, all of Merlin's back shone with salve. His breathing was noticeably calmer and his knuckles were no longer white where they gripped his elbows. Arthur was methodical and did not miss the stripes that extended up Merlin's neck or across his side and chest. He sat back and surveyed his handiwork. Merlin raised his head and stretched experimentally.

"Better," he sighed. The pain still throbbed, but the sting was gone. He could feel his thoughts moving slowly. _That'll be the medicine._ He felt pleasantly woozy. He could almost sleep sitting up, but he was terrified of falling over onto his injuries. The pain wasn't so abated that he wasn't aware of every inhale and exhale. Merlin looked between the old man and the young man, and splitting the words between them murmured, "Thank you."

Merlin was starting to feel like he was floating a bit above his own body. His thoughts were now only of sleep. Gaius reached a hand under his chin and, tilting his head up, surveyed him with a single arched eyebrow. Apparently satisfied, he leaned forward and kissed Merlin softly on the head. Gaius extended an arm to Arthur, who helped him stand, albeit with significant huffing and a curse. As the guards approached to escort him out, he called to Arthur: "Wash his wounds again in the morning. Take note of any new swelling or pus. When you can no longer see the salve, reapply it. These first few days are crucial if we are to avoid infection." He looked around the cell--not filthy, but certainly not hygienic--and his lips flattened into a tight line. "You must take care of him, Sire. I will return in the morning." The guards ushered him out and locked the cell door again.

Arthur reached over to Merlin and ruffled his hair, more gently than usual. "Idiot."

"Prat."

Merlin reached for Arthur's hands to guide him down to the floor. Still clutching the cloak around him, Merlin eased onto his stomach. The window admitted strong midday sunlight and motes of dust shone as they filtered down through the air. Merlin's back was still hard for Arthur to look at, but he focused instead on the boy's slow, steady breathing. Soon, a soft snore reassured him that Merlin was truly, peacefully asleep. 

Arthur moved to lean against the wall nearest to Merlin and struggled to think about training drills, and not the ache in his heart.

\-------------

Merlin slept through the afternoon. Arthur alternated between pacing and staring at the far wall. The hours crawled and he exhausted his ability to plan and instruct imaginary knights as a mental exercise. His thoughts drifted inevitably back to the black-haired boy asleep on the straw. Merlin. Who else would talk back to a king? To Uther, of all men! An image formed in Arthur's head, of a tiny bantam cockerel picking a fight with a rooster three times his size. He smiled at the image. That was Merlin. Since the day of their meeting, Merlin displayed total unawareness of his place in society. Learning Arthur was a prince didn't give him pause. He swung with his fists and his words, and absolutely no sense at all. Defending Arthur. Defending the crown prince of Camelot. At first it rankled him a little. Did Merlin really see Arthur as a maid in need of rescue? But gradually he settled into the understanding that it was simply Merlin's way. After meeting Hunith, his mother, Arthur thought he could see where Merlin got it from. She was courageous and she was kind and utterly fearless. No, Merlin hadn't defended Arthur because he thought Arthur needed defending. He'd done it because it was right. He had no patience for injustice. 

The sun had long since fled the window of their cell when Merlin awoke. In the dwindling light, Arthur could still make out Merlin's features: the mussed black hair, the dark lashes, the full pout of his ridiculous mouth. Arthur frowned inwardly. Something undeniable stirred within him when he looked at Merlin like this. _Pity_ , he put it down to. _I've never seen him so still._ _He looks terrible. Even my father would be moved to pity_ , he thought, seeing the young man normally bursting with life lying broken and motionless on the floor. Arthur was seized by sudden anxiety to see Merlin move after so many hours. Knowing he was being irrational, Arthur rose to his knees and crept closer to reassure himself that Merlin still breathed. His full lips were slightly parted, but Arthur could detect no sound. Merlin's soft snoring had subsided some time ago. And then, almost as if disturbed by his anxious attention, Merlin's mouth pursed and his dark eyebrows drew together. His eyelids fluttered for a moment and then slid open halfway to take in Arthur's face so near to his own. His lips curved into a smile. Then Merlin rolled over.

Arthur hardly had time to move out of the way as Merlin arched in pain. He cried out sharply, shattering the silence. Arthur's eyes went wide as he searched for something to say or do that could alleviate Merlin's agony. 

"Damn it, Merlin, be careful!" _Brilliant_ , he thought. _You're shouting at him. Again._ Arthur closed the short distance to his side. 

Merlin reached for him, clutching his hands and struggling to sit up. Arthur gripped one hand and slid the other behind Merlin's head to assist him. Eyes screwed up tight, Merlin exhaled sharp, fast breaths. He dropped his head against Arthur's shoulder and gradually his breathing eased. His blue eyes, pale grey in the twilight, opened again and searched for Arthur's. "Knew I would do that," Merlin groaned. Without thinking, Arthur pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

For a moment, both young men froze. 

_Why did I do that?!_ "Idiot," Arthur muttered. It broke the spell. Merlin laughed weakly against him. "Here, sit up. You haven't eaten anything today. Gwen sent dinner from the palace kitchen. You'll be eating better here than at home with Gaius."

Gwen's late-afternoon visit had been brief. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she handed the plates to Arthur. She knelt beside Merlin's still form and lightly ran her fingers through his hair. "Take care of him, Arthur. You'll take care of him, won't you, sire?" _People keep asking me to do that_ , he thought somewhat resentfully. He wasn't sure if he resented the implication that he might not look after Merlin, or the assumption that he had any idea how to do that. Again he felt painfully inept. He thought back on how many times he'd been ill or injured. What did Merlin do? He had a hazy impression of activity, some of it annoying, but most of it generally comforting. Well, there were no pillows to fluff or coverlets to tuck around him, but food was a start.

Arthur brought the plates over. He hadn't eaten either. He'd had no appetite earlier, but now he found his stomach growling. 

"Are you sure I'm the one who needs to eat? You know how cross you get when you're hungry. _Sire,_ " Merlin teased. It was the most reassuring thing he could have said, the most _Merlin_ , and Arthur smiled for the first time that day.

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"Shut up and eat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I conflated symptoms of both psychological and hypovolemic shock in this chapter. Merlin's sleepless night, injuries, and exposure put him at risk of plummeting blood pressure and the symptoms I describe, although psychological shock, which is not life-threatening, can bring on the same symptoms. First aid for either condition is similar, and I trust Gaius would have known how to handle the situation.
> 
> That or he left his leeches at home.


	4. Brave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur talk into the night. Sometimes it's easier to be brave in the darkness than in the light.

They finished eating in companionable silence. Night had fallen, and the darkness gave Arthur courage to speak.

"Merlin?"

"Hmm?"

"I just wanted to say...I'm sorry. I shouldn't have shouted at you. I had no right. But..."

Merlin waited.

"You don't have to say, but...why _didn't_ you tell me what my father did? Why didn't you tell me what really happened?" 

Arthur's voice was soft, and Merlin searched for the words to answer him.

"I was ashamed. It was stupid and pointless and I knew you would be angry at me and...I just couldn't face you, knowing what was going to happen. I thought it would be easier on both of us. I'm sorry," he finished.

"You knew you would be flogged, and you were afraid--that I'd be angry?"

"Well, I knew you'd shout at me and call me an idiot for not knowing when to keep my mouth shut."

"Ah." Arthur felt his face flush red and he was grateful again for the darkness. "Merlin, I'm--"

"It's alright," Merlin cut him off. "I just didn't want you to think I was stupid. I know you don't need defending. But your father was _wrong_ \--"

"My father," Arthur interrupted, "Is the king. Even I pick my battles when I talk to him. You're a servant, Merlin. What did you hope to accomplish?"

"I _know_ , don't you think I know that? But after everything you did for me--I mean, for Ealdor, for my mother--he would have had you beaten in the public square, as if it were something to be ashamed of! Your father doesn't see what's obvious to everyone else: you'll be a great king, _because_ of your heart. Not in spite of it. He thinks your compassion is a weakness, but Camelot will be stronger because of it."

Arthur didn't know what to say to that. Merlin's loyalty was beyond fathoming. Could he ever be worthy of that kind of faith? "Thank you," he managed, after a time. "But Merlin, I never wanted you to go through something like this for me. It _was_ reckless and stupid. And it was brave. I know I've called you cowardly before, but I've never actually thought that, you know. Since the day we met, you've always shown the most remarkable courage. What you faced today..." Arthur trailed off, suddenly feeling that he'd said too much.

A long silence stretched between them.

"I wasn't, you know," Merlin said at last. "Brave. I tried to be, Arthur, I thought about everything you said but...it was too much." He hesitated, suffused with shame. "I couldn't be like you. I couldn't keep from crying or, or, or struggling and _everyone_ saw and, and--" Tears welled up in his eyes. It didn't help that Gaius' medicine was wearing off now and his back throbbed with pain. "I'm not like you. I'm not brave," he concluded, and his voice broke as he trailed off.

"Shh...sh...Merlin. Merlin, listen to me. Really listen to me, because you clearly didn't the first time. It doesn't matter if you cried or if you struggled. Maybe your image of the perfect warrior is one who's stoic in the face of fear and pain, but that's not real, do you hear me? I teach my knights that it doesn't matter if you get sick or if you piss yourself or if you have to tie your hands to the saddle to keep from running away. All that matters is that you _face_ the battle anyway. You have to be willing to face fear and pain. It doesn't matter how you do that. And you did. You did more, you faced it alone. I wish to the gods you hadn't, but it took courage to face that alone. You were protecting me." He paused. "But so help me, Merlin, if you ever do something like that again I'll--"

"What, have me flogged?" Merlin's voice was still shaky, but there was a grin in it. "Because the stocks don't look so bad now."

" _Mer_ lin. Just...don't do something like that again," Arthur finished in a softer voice, "for me."

The cell was so quiet that each man could hear his own heart beat. In the darkness, Merlin finally let his tears fall freely. Pain, shame, and gratitude coursed down his cheeks in hot, heavy drops. If Arthur could hear him, he made no acknowledgment.

Arthur, for his part, sensed rather than heard Merlin weep. He didn't know what to say and didn't think Merlin would want him to speak anyway. His own tears were buried deeper. He almost envied his manservant the ability to let him emotions overwhelm him. As Arthur remembered his angry outburst from earlier, he disliked the feeling that he was more like his father than like Merlin, in that way. Whoever his father had been before his birth--before losing his wife, Arthur's mother--Arthur only knew him as a man of great pride and great anger. And great disappointment. He so often seemed disappointed in Arthur. Was Merlin right to see his heart as a strength, and not a weakness? Arthur felt bizarrely torn between wanting the respect of his father, the great king, and valuing the esteem of his sensitive fool of a manservant. Not for the first time, he wondered at the circumstances that brought Merlin into his life. He was changed. Maybe _too_ different from the arrogant prince Merlin stood up to--and then again, maybe not different enough.

"I'm tired," Merlin said at last. "Think I'll turn in for the night. Unless there's anything else, your highness?" 

Arthur didn't think Merlin was capable of addressing him properly without the words turning to a joke even as he spoke them. 

"Wait. Your back. I have to reapply the salve Gaius left."

Merlin groaned.

"Gaius made me promise to look after you. Come to think of it, so did Gwen. They know you don't have the good sense to look after yourself," said Arthur firmly.

"I spend all my good sense looking after you," Merlin retorted.

"You really do, don't you?" Arthur's tone was hard to place, somewhere between teasing and unexpectedly sincere.

It took some effort in the dark of the cell, but Arthur managed to locate both the salve and Merlin. He worked delicately, lifting away straw that clung to the dried salve from Merlin's accidental brush with the floor. His hands traced Merlin's wounds and the skin was hot under his touch, even in the cool of the evening. Merlin flinched and swore under his breath as Arthur worked, but he didn't pull away. Arthur felt oddly shaken by Merlin's willingness to submit to his efforts. He was aware of every rough callous of his hands on the torn and tender skin beneath. He tried to work quickly, to spare him further pain.

"There, finished. I'm to wash them again in the morning, but Gaius will be back with his medicine. I hope that I...I mean, I hope it wasn't too bad."

"You did just fine, Arthur. I mean, you shouldn't have to do this--not that you _have_ to do this, it's just--"

"Merlin?"

"Shut up?"

Arthur laughed gently. "Get some sleep. I want my breakfast at sunrise and my boots need a polish and my sword has to be sharpened before training."

"Yes, sire. I'll get to it first thing in the morning."

"See that you do." Arthur felt Merlin smile in the darkness. "Goodnight, Merlin."

"Goodnight, Arthur."

Although he was tired--more than he should be, he thought, after a day spent in a cell--Arthur didn't lie down until after Merlin's breathing told him that he was sleeping soundly. He felt an odd watchfulness. Merlin really did need looking after, he decided. It wasn't a luxury the crown prince of Camelot could afford, to look after his reckless and foolhardy manservant, but here in the dungeons there weren't really any other obligations on his time. _That's all,_ he reassured himself. _There's just nothing else for me to do down here_ , but the words rang hollow in his head. The truth was that Merlin made him...feel things. Protective, defensive, concerned, and even, if he were perfectly honest with himself, tender with regard to the boy who lay inches away from him in the straw. _Merlin_ , Arthur thought, shaking his head. _What in the world am I supposed to do with you?_

The moon rose slowly, spilling white light through the bars and outlining the bodies of the sleeping servant and his wakeful prince.


	5. Between A Rock And A Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaius and Arthur tend to Merlin's wounds, but there is only so much they can do for him.

Merlin awoke on fire. His back blazed with searing pain and it took a moment for his rational mind to remember why. The effects of Gaius' potion had completely worn off and there was no buffer between Merlin and this world of flame. Merlin sat up and rocked himself back and forth with the effort to remain silent. He gulped down the cold, early morning air and gradually calmed his panic, although the pain persisted. Experimentally, he reached for the back of his neck where the stray lash had left a weal. It was raised and hot to the touch and Merlin hissed as he felt along its contour. The cell was dark grey with the palest morning light, barely enough to illuminate Arthur's form. His loud snoring reassured Merlin that Arthur was well and truly asleep. _How can a snore sound entitled?_ Somehow Arthur snored the most self-satisfied, reverberant, princely snore Merlin had ever heard. _Prat_ , he thought to himself. Then he remembered strong hands, rough but exceedingly gentle, bringing relief to his pain. More than that, he realized. Arthur's touch had made him feel...safe. His fears that Arthur would mock him or see him as weak felt unfair, now. More than ever, Merlin wished there were no secrets between himself and the prince who placed such faith in him. The prince he--

_Nothing to be done about it now,_ Merlin interrupted his thought. After watching the rise and fall of Arthur's chest in the moonlight-- _to make sure the prat is really asleep_ , Merlin told himself--he felt confident enough to risk his magic. Merlin closed his eyes tightly and reached. Here in the dungeons it was harder to call to the surface, but gradually his magic stirred. A current of golden light rose under his skin, racing from his core to his extremities, pulsing with energy. It rose from within him and seemed to spill forth onto the surface of his skin. As it did, Merlin felt a surge of well-being, of relief. In the softest of voices his intoned, _Eard mín sárslegeas ġeayl, thayre eard eáthnes mín sár_. The healing spell flared bright in his mind and for a moment Merlin felt the wounds on his back begin to sting and itch as they drew closed. 

Then a wave of nausea hit him so hard it nearly knocked him to the floor. He felt suddenly weakened, depleted. The pain returned in full force as his magic ebbed away. Merlin swore under his breath. Healing spells were not his forte, but this one had been working! He shook his head to clear it. The reason was obvious. Here in the cell where nature was kept at bay with worked stone and iron, the only source for his magic was within himself. In trying to heal himself he was drawing on reserves he simply didn't possess. For a moment he wondered whether it was possible to draw on another person as the source for the spell's power. He imagined touching a hand to Arthur's chest, the center of his life and strength, and drawing forth just enough of that strength to heal himself. There was a bond between them already. Arthur would let him, he felt sure. Yesterday he seemed desperate to do anything to relieve Merlin's suffering. Then Merlin frowned. _No, Arthur would feel betrayed and Uther would have me burned at the stake._ But the image of reaching out to Arthur for relief remained with him for some time.

As the pale grey light filtered slowly into his cell, Merlin lay down again on his side, willing himself to sleep through the pain. But sleep would not come.

\--------------

Arthur awoke well after sunrise. His eyelids were still heavy and as he lifted them halfway an image came to him: Merlin, with his knees tucked under his chin, blue eyes open, watching Arthur sleep. Usually his first glimpse of Merlin came with the pulling back of heavy curtains, bright sunlight, and an inane greeting. This Merlin had none of that cheeriness. His eyes were soft and...sad, Arthur thought. Dancing motes of light settled on his thin frame, his bare shoulders. For a moment the beauty of his vision eclipsed his memory, and he forgot about his surroundings and the events of the previous day. _Beauty?_ Arthur wondered. _Merlin...beautiful? Why did I think of that word?_ Arthur wondered. Even if he were given to admiring his gawky manservant--and Arthur reassured himself, he wasn't--this was hardly the time or place. Merlin was in pain and he certainly didn't need the awkwardness of Arthur's confused affection. _That's all it is_ , he concluded, _I feel sorry for him and...fond. The idiot..._

Arthur gave an exaggerated yawn and opened his eyes. There was Merlin in the same position, watching...oh. Merlin hadn't been watching _him_ , he'd been looking towards the window. Arthur felt a bit silly. He must have imagined it. _Why would I imagine that?_

"Rise and shine," Merlin greeted him. "Up and at 'em! Let's have you, lazy daisy!" His tone was light but his eyes remained soft and distant even as they focused on Arthur. He shrugged and gave a little smile. "It's what my mother used to say. Of course, _I_ actually woke up without throwing pillows at her, but that's royalty for you."

Arthur mimed chucking a pillow at Merlin, who obligingly ducked. "So what's on the royal schedule?"

"Mmmm...well, I took the liberty of canceling a few items. No council meeting this morning."

"I can live with that."

"No visiting princesses."

"Also good."

"No training."

Arthur frowned. He knew Sir Leon would maintain their rigorous exercises, but it reminded him that he was in a dungeon under his father's orders for an unspecified length of time. Leon wouldn't brook gossip, but news of his imprisonment would circulate just the same. He held his knights to high standards. He hoped this stint in the dungeons wouldn't affect his polished presentation of knightly virtue. Image was important for a prince, first among Camelot's finest warriors.

"Then remind me again why I should get out of bed?" Arthur demanded.

Merlin shrugged. Then winced. Arthur remembered.

"Gaius! Your back. I have to wash it and repply the salve before Gaius gets here."

Merlin made a noise of protest. 

"I'm not getting in trouble with my father _and_ Gaius, so for once Merlin, would you just do as you're told?"

It took a few minutes to get the attention of the guards and receive a bowl of clean water. Merlin looked at it sidelong. Arthur motioned him to turn around and found himself once again staring at the bloody map of his injuries. They were as bad as he remembered. Worse. Arthur swallowed hard against the feelings--anger, sorrow, tenderness--that swelled within him. _Take note of any new changes_ , Arthur reminded himself. There were changes. The most obvious was scattered across his back, a pattern of purple bruises where the weight of the lash had landed. Arthur squinted and tried to remember exactly how he'd looked yesterday. The swelling was still pronounced, each mark raised and red. His cuts were not yet scabbed over and some had leaked a clear fluid in the night. It was a pitiful sight.

Arthur swallowed hard and set his resolve. Sometimes, when hunting, the first crossbow bolt would bring a buck to its knees but not kill it outright. Arthur never had trouble doing what came next. With deliberate speed he would cut the animal's throat with his hunting knife. (Merlin never could watch that part. _Tenderhearted fool_.) When he touched Merlin, he drew on the same certain efficiency. The goal was to reduce suffering. Arthur could not put Merlin through worse just because he was more experienced at hunting than healing. 

He wet the cloth and stretched it over Merlin's upper back, leaving it for a minute or two, loosening the bloodstains that had reappeared during the night. Merlin gasped and twisted away at the first touch, but then stilled and held himself in place. 

"Hurts."

"I know." Arthur removed the towel, rewetted it, and dabbed his way across Merlin's injuries. Merlin shivered throughout, whether with cold or with pain Arthur couldn't be sure. "Here," Arthur said as he finished, and he wrapped his red cloak around Merlin's shoulders and knees. "Almost done." As he daubed salve on each of Merlin's cuts, his hand was steadier and surer than yesterday. Merlin's breathing told him that the process was still a painful one, but his shoulders were lower and more relaxed.

Merlin, for his part, was more cognizant of Arthur's efforts than either time the previous day. Between the shock and the medicine, his memory was patchy and presented random, disconnected scenes when he consulted it. He could remember everything up until the scaffold. The beating was one impossibly protracted moment of agony and humiliation. Then he was stumbling, then Arthur was shouting, then someone touched his wounds and the world went white. He vaguely remembered the previous evening. Memories there were a little more connected. There were still moments that confused him, however. When he awoke and foolishly rolled onto his back, there was something strange. In his mind, Merlin held the ridiculous image of being gathered bodily in Arthur's arms, like a child. And even less probably, he seemed to remember...a kiss? A soft, comforting kiss on his head. It was the sort of thing Gaius would do. It was not something Prince Arthur did, not to anyone, least of all his manservant. Still the image, the sense memory, persisted. Surely, he thought, it was harmless to hold on to that feeling of tenderness. His entire body pulsed with pain that did not abate. He was still in a dungeon cell, for who knows how long. Surely it didn't hurt anyone if he secreted away a moment of intimacy, of care. Even if it couldn't really have happened...could it? 

When Arthur finished his ministrations, they both fell silent for a time. For Merlin, it was a struggle not to moan or cry out, and it was easier if he bit his lip and said nothing. Arthur, on the other hand, simply didn't know what to say. He felt strangely shy of Merlin. Merlin, who dressed and undressed him daily. Merlin, who'd seen him at his best and at his worst. Merlin, who knew him more thoroughly than any other person alive. For the first time, he felt acutely aware of himself around Merlin. After all, Merlin tended _him_ , not the other way round. Before yesterday, Arthur had not seen Merlin without a shirt, though Merlin had seen Arthur in every state of undress. He had rarely been with Merlin when he was sick or injured, though Merlin had tended him through every fever and slow-healing wound (and Arthur remembered with embarrassment what a petulant patient he was on those occasions). Certainly Arthur had never stroked his skin or whispered words of comfort to Merlin, before yesterday. Yet here he was, fingers sticky with salve, still tingling with awareness of the body so recently beneath them. _That_ , Arthur concluded, was why everything felt so strange. It was like a Festival of Misrule: a prince trading places with his servant, exchanging their roles of giving and receiving. Ah well, it wasn't forever. Just until his father forgot his anger, then everything could go back to normal. 

Now why did that make him feel sad?

\-------------

When Gaius arrived it was still early in the day. He approved Arthur's work, but when it came to his own inspection of Merlin's back, his lips drew into a tight frown. "Look here, Sire." Gaius indicated the edge of a long cut. Along the sides of the thin, deep mark, Arthur now saw a border of white."Evidence of possible infection," Gaius explained. Now that he'd indicated it and in the full morning light, Arthur's eyes skipped around the map of Merlin's injuries and he saw the same thin white lines...everywhere. Guilt surged within him. How had he missed it? Had he let Merlin down?

Gaius seemed to read his thoughts. "It's not because of anything you did or didn't do, sire." His eyes took in the small cell. "It's this place. This is nowhere for him to heal. The straw, the floor, even the air is unclean. He needs to be treated in my chambers, where I can monitor his condition. This," Gaius threw his hands up in frustration, "This is the source of the infection." He sighed. "I'll do everything I can while I'm here. Arthur--"

"Of course, Gaius. Anything he needs. Just show me how to help." His voice conveyed a confidence that Arthur didn't feel.

Merlin sat between the two men, self-conscious and foggy from the pain. He felt like a bother. If he'd had the sense to keep his mouth shut, none of this would be happening. Then he pictured Arthur, bloodied, beaten, alone in his cell. No. Given the chance, he'd make the same choice again. But it was one thing to submit to Gaius' work and another to put that burden on Arthur, of all people. He could hear the unsteadiness in Arthur's voice, though he doubted anyone else would. _Poor Arthur_ , he thought, and almost laughed. _Nursemaid to a fool who couldn't stay out of trouble._ But then he remembered the soothing touch of Arthur's hands, the comfort of his voice. In the midst of his pain, the memory was like a warm golden light within him. Safe and cared for, he could allow himself to relax and trust that Arthur would see him through this. 

For the next half hour, Gaius instructed Arthur. There was an infusion of lavender and vinegar. "I'm sorry, dear boy. This will sting, but it's highly efficacious against infection if applied early enough." He brought forth a small, ornately decorated box of wood and brass and took from it two chunks of resin. "Frankincense," Gaius explained, "To clear away the miasma of this infernal cell." He burned it in a tiny censer and clouds of smoke billowed up, filling Arthur's nose with a scent that was both pungent and sweet. The guards outside their cell looked at each other, unnerved, but ultimately said nothing. Gaius showed him how to scrub away the white exudate, and warned him of the change in color and smell that indicated infection. He left Arthur with several leaves of a spiky succulent. "From a plant first cultivated in Egypt in times of antiquity. It will help with the inflammation and soothe the pain for a time." He drew forth a roll of clean white gauze and Arthur helped him wrap Merlin's torso. 

Arthur's brow furrowed with the effort to commit everything to memory. Merlin's wounds would need to be tended and monitored over the next few days. Gaius would be allowed to visit, but the bulk of Merlin's care necessarily fell to Arthur. He doubted his skill. But Merlin needed him and that was the end of it. He would just have to learn. Fast.

Finally, Gaius brought out the amber vial from yesterday's visit. "Only a spoonful, twice a day. It will ease the pain, but it's a powerful medicine. Too much and the patient can fall into a sleep from which he cannot awaken. Slows the heart," he explained. "Be careful with it, sire." The caution was well-advised. Arthur thought about Merlin's face, pale from unabated pain, and realized how easily he might give him too much, just to see him breathe easily again. Merlin swallowed the bitter mixture, without complaint this time. Gaius waited to see the medicine take effect. Arthur was seized by a sudden thought. 

"Gaius, do you have writing materials? I need to compose a letter to my father." 

Merlin looked up in surprise. Gaius answered, "Certainly, sire. I always keep them at hand, for my notes." He handed over a few sheets of parchment, a thin quill, and an inkhorn. For several minutes, Arthur wrote. He sat back and waited for the ink to dry before rolling the parchment and handing it to Gaius. "I need you to deliver this to my father at once." Nonplussed, Gaius nodded. Arthur thanked him.

Gaius held Merlin at arms length and studied his face carefully. Merlin tried to meet his eyes without betraying his pain. The old man shook his head. He slid his hands down to squeeze Merlin's, then accepted Arthur's help getting up. "The medicine will begin to work soon. Sleep. Allow the body to heal itself. And for heaven's sake, Merlin," he smiled sadly, "Don't do anything like this again. My heart cannot take the strain." 

The guards escorted him out of the cell and locked the heavy door behind him. Merlin glanced at Arthur's face which looked grim and determined. Merlin wondered what he'd written in the letter, but he didn't think Arthur would volunteer the information, and didn't intend to ask him. Instead he held his hands out so that Arthur could ease him onto his side. Gradually, his breathing became easier and his eyelids began to feel heavy. 

"Arthur."

The prince looked at him.

"Thank you."

Arthur gave a curt nod, but smiled down at him. "Get some rest, Merlin."

"Yes...my lord" Merlin said, and his eyes slid closed.


	6. Consequences

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's gambit to protect Merlin has consequences for them both.

The hours when Merlin slept were the dullest of the interminable day. Arthur paced. He stretched and rolled his shoulders. He stood and looked at the sky through the cell window. He mentally rehearsed battle drills. Gradually his mind drifted to recent events. He thought back on the fight for Ealdor and the young man--no, the _sorcerer_ \--who had nonetheless given his life to save Arthur's. It stung that Merlin had kept the truth from him. His thoughts stretched back further to the early days of their friendship. The times Merlin had forgotten his sword. The times Merlin had spilled his wine at table. The times he'd argued with Arthur. The times he'd saved his life. He cast his eyes on the huddled figure on the floor. 

Merlin slept, but as Arthur watched, the boy's brows drew together and his lips parted as if to make a sound. The moment passed and he seemed peaceful, but as he watched, the expression of pain clouded his features again. Arthur sat down by Merlin's head and frowned. Surely with Gaius' potion Merlin wasn't hurting? The day before, his sleep had been perfectly peaceful. Arthur easily conjured that memory, of Merlin's uncreased lids and long eyelashes lying still, almost childlike in slumber. No, something was different today. Merlin winced again and Arthur caught himself reaching out a hand to him. He checked the motion, pausing for a long moment. Then, following his instinct, he lowered his hand and stroked Merlin's forehead. The dark brows relaxed immediately. Arthur felt a moment's elation. Some minutes passed and that expression of pain passed over his features again. A little more confidently this time, Arthur stroked his brow from the bridge of his nose out towards his temple. This time Merlin sighed in his sleep. Arthur looked up to reassure himself that the guards were occupied with their game of dice, and then he allowed himself to stroke Merlin's forehead slowly, repeatedly. He hesitated, then gently combed his fingers through Merlin's hair. Merlin gave an almost inaudible murmur of contentment. And so Arthur found himself soothing Merlin as he slept with slow, tender motions. For the first time that day, his mind was calm and time passed easily.

Down the spiraling stairs, the heavy echo of a familiar tread was all the warning Arthur had. He slipped his hand from Merlin's hair and leaped to his feet. A regal, black-clad figure swept into view. At the sight of him both guards snapped to attention. He walked with purpose towards Arthur's cell.

"Father," Arthur addressed him, inclining his head respectfully.

"Leave us," Uther commanded, and both guards withdrew out of earshot.

"Father, I--"

Uther cut him off with a gesture. Arthur closed his mouth and dropped his head.

"When I received your message from Gaius, I was certain that you had come to your senses. You can imagine my astonishment to read neither contrition nor humility, but a plea on behalf of your ill-mannered _serving boy_. By riding to Ealdor, you put Camelot in danger, undermining a peace treaty that was years in the making, and you risked open war with Essetir. You allowed Morgana to ride with you, putting the King's own ward in peril. You defied my decision as your sovereign, your commander, and your father. Have you truly come to no further understanding of what you've done? Speak."

"Father, you know that it goes against my heart to disobey you, but I had to do what I believed was right! You taught me--"

" _Silence_. I can see that you've learned nothing."

"Father, I do not ask for your clemency! I accept your judgment. Leave me here for a fortnight, for a month even, if you will it. But Merlin is wounded and unwell. He may be a fool, but he's a loyal fool and he has served me well. I know he took my punishment as well as his own. Surely--"

Uther raised his hand sharply, silencing him. "Very well. I understand now. You care nothing for your punishment or for my displeasure. But you seem to care inordinately for your idiot manservant--who brought his suffering upon himself, I might add. My answer is no. Your boy can remain here in the dungeon, as will you, until the week is out. At that time--"

"Father, no!" Arthur shouted in dismay. 

" _Silence!_ " Uther roared. "It seems to me that you care a great deal more for the well-being of a servant than for the will of your king! The boy stays here."

"He could die--"

"Then he dies! Dammit, Arthur, there's an end to it!"

Softly, head bowed. "Please."

Uther paused and took in the scene. No doubt Gaius' boy was unwell, but he was perfectly young and healthy. The flogging had been severe, but hardly fatal. And as much as it galled him to admit it, Arthur's manservant was unswervingly loyal to him. Insolence must be punished, but loyalty was also of great value. Uther spoke again, in a lowered tone. "I am not without...mercy. Gaius may continue to visit and treat the him. He may remain in your cell, if that is your wish. But my decision is final. When the week is out, I will order you released--and the boy. But see that you remind him of his place."

Arthur tried one last time. "Father. Please."

Uther turned on his heel and turned towards the stairwell. He paused and looked over his shoulder towards Arthur. "It gives me no pleasure to do this. But you must learn that your actions have consequences, and that you are not the only one who may suffer them."

His cloak billowed as he turned and was gone. 

The guards returned to their posts.

Merlin slept on.

\-------------

Merlin slept most of the day, until his surroundings appeared only in shades of grey. He rose to consciousness slowly, as the medicine wore off and the discomfort in his back intruded on his muddled dreams. For a time he chased after that deep and painless sleep, but to no avail. His thoughts began to sharpen from blissful, hazy images back into to words and memory. Still he kept his eyes closed. He felt rather than saw Arthur's gaze on him and allowed himself to bask in the feeling. He was imprisoned, in pain, and helpless, but Arthur was there, bringing relief in his hands and comfort in his voice. _Arthur should not be taking care of me_ , a voice inside protested. Just as he shouldn't have been in Ealdor, risking his life for Merlin's family and village. _I am meant to protect him_ , it continued, _It's my fault he's here at all, in this stinking cell_. But another voice answered as it had to his mother, _Arthur would do the same for anyone_. A memory arose in Arthur's voice: _I wish Camelot were able to help people regardless of how far away they lived._ That was his prince, the one whose destiny he served. He could still be a prat, Merlin conceded, but Arthur truly cared about people. Not just those of nobility and rank, but ordinary people like his mother, like Merlin himself. Why else would he bring Merlin into the protection of his cell, clean his wounds, ease his pain? Simply because it was right. That's what Merlin most respected about him. Not his title or his great destiny, but his great heart. It was his heart that Merlin--

He pushed away the rest of the thought. It was known to him, and that was enough. He had long ago come to terms with the feelings that Arthur stirred in him, and they always lead to desires that were beyond hoping for. Arthur would never, _could_ never feel as Merlin did. But here in the dim stone cell, under the fading haze of the drug, Merlin could dream for a moment that the touch of Arthur's hands was something more than necessity. He could picture Arthur watching him sleep, not out of duty, but out of affection. He let himself recall that impossible memory: the feeling of being held, of Arthur's lips pressed to his head. It was more intimate than anything Merlin had ever let himself imagine before, even on those rare occasions when he allowed his imagination free rein.

_You know how dangerous magic is. You shouldn't have kept this from me, Merlin._ The thought intruded with brutal abruptness, dousing his tiny spark of hope. _He's been taught to hate_ _magic_ , Merlin reminded himself. _If he knew who I was, he would hate me too. He would never trust me again._ No gentle touch, not even a kiss, could soften that sharp-edged reality. And so Merlin dragged himself out of his dreams and back into his body. Each point of contact between his body and the cell floor was painful, and his back burned. He could still feel Arthur's eyes on him, and finally he raised his heavy lids to meet his gaze. Arthur sat with his back to the wall, facing Merlin. His eyes were soft and he seemed lost in his own thoughts. 

"Sire..?"

Arthur started. His eyes refocused on Merlin and a smile began in the corner of his mouth. 

"Thought you would sleep the day away," he teased. "Tell me Merlin, what is the point of me bringing my manservant along with me to the dungeon if I have to imagine his mindless prattle for myself? You've missed Gwen again, by the way. And dinner, but since she hasn't come back for the plates..." Arthur moved Merlin's portion closer to him.

Merlin needed no further encouragement. "Gweh wah heah?" Merlin asked, between bites of chicken. 

Arthur nodded. "And Morgana. And Cook sent down these." Arthur gestured to a plate piled with small round honey cakes.

Merlin's eyes widened. "I thought Cook hated me."

"Well, I don't know what you've done, but she sent nothing down for me but what Gwen brought. Apparently you're the sovereign of the scullary, whereas I myself am only the crown prince of Camelot. Really, Merlin, what do you get up to when you're not doing an appalling job of being my manservant?"

Merlin shrugged, mouth already full of honeycake. It was good to see him eat, Arthur thought. It felt normal. 

After their meal, Merlin submitted with minimal protest to having his wounds redressed and swallowed his evening draught without complaint. Arthur felt more confident, even with Gaius' increasingly detailed instructions for Merlin's care. Still, it was far from a painless process, especially when the bandages stuck to his skin and needed loosening to be removed. It was too dark to make out much about the condition of his injuries, but everything he could observe Arthur committed to memory to tell Gaius. 

Finally the two young men sat in the darkness of twilight, a silence falling over them. 

After a time, Arthur said, "Talk to me, Merlin. I'm bored."

"What do you want me to say? That you're a prat who needs to learn to entertain himself?"

" _Mer_ lin..."

"Alright, alright. What do you want to talk about?"

Arthur cast about in his mind. There was something he wanted to ask, but didn't want to spoil what had been a pleasant evening, insofar as that was possible under the circumstances.

Merlin seemed to read his mind. "Well, then, out with it. Sire. I can tell there's something."

Arthur hesitated. _Why should I care how he'll answer? He's my manservant._ But his thoughts countered themselves. _Because he's my friend and I don't want to lose that._

"Alright," he began, and sighed. "Why didn't you tell me that Will was a sorcerer? How could you keep something like that from me?"

Merlin closed his eyes. He'd been expecting this. "Well...what would you have done, if I had?"

"Merlin, you know how dangerous sorcery is. You've seen the work of sorcerers seeking to undo Camelot. You should have trusted me."

Merlin sighed. "Should I have trusted you to spare Will, or to burn him at the stake? You told a dying man you would not execute him. But if he'd lived?"

"Well," Arthur thought. "Essetir is beyond Camelot's borders..."

"But if it weren't?"

Arthur scowled in the dark. This conversation wasn't going as planned. He felt as though he were submitting to Merlin's interrogation, rather than the other way around. "Magic is evil. It corrupts even good men--"

"Do you really believe that all magic users are evil?"

Arthur huffed. "Do you not?"

Merlin remained silent for a long time. "Truthfully, sire?"

"You might as well."

"I think magic is a tool. It's power. It's not so different from your sword. It can be wielded to kill the innocent--or to save a village. It depends on the wielder, doesn't it?"

Arthur didn't answer right away.

"I know... _knew_ Will," Merlin said, softly. "He could no more harm an innocent than you could, Arthur. Magic cannot change what's in a person's heart. You asked me why I didn't tell you. I was scared, f-for Will, I mean. I couldn't let him be burned, and I couldn't let you kill an innocent man. You're not your father, Arthur. You have compassion as well as judgment. But you're still choosing your own path. I'm sorry that I didn't tell you. But I don't know if I could have done any differently. Would you, in my place?"

Arthur thought about it. "I don't know," he conceded. "I don't like that you kept it from me. But I suppose I can understand."

"Thank you, Arthur," Merlin said quietly.

Arthur laughed softly. "My manservant. Consorting with sorcerers. Dear gods, my father could have you put to death. You really are an idiot, aren't you Merlin?"

"If you say so."

"What am I going to do with you?"

This time Merlin laughed, and it was good to hear. "What would you do _without_ me, is a better question. You can't find your own nightshirt without help, and that's when you're _in_ it!" 

Arthur batted straw towards him playfully. 

Merlin yawned deeply, then caught himself as he began to stretch out of instinct. Arthur heard his breath catch painfully. The reality of Merlin's condition rushed back to him.

"Go to sleep, Merlin. You'll feel better in the morning," said Arthur, authoritatively.

"Are you after my position as Gaius' assistant? You sound just like him."

"Go to sleep, and that's an order," Arthur commanded, but there was a smile in his voice.

"Prat."

"Idiot."

"Good _night_ , Merlin."

"Goodnight, Arthur."

After a few minutes, Merlin's soft snores were the only sound. 


	7. A Quiet Truth

Arthur's dreams were of a task. It was important that he complete it, something vital rested on its completion, but he couldn't remember what. Still, his hands moved of their own accord. _Fold the cloth, wet it, and now the tricky part. Wipe the blood away, gently now, gently, gently._ Merlin. That was it! Merlin needed him. Instinctively, Arthur reached for his sword but came away holding a bloody bandage. He wound it and wound it, but there was more somehow and now his arms were full of gauze. No, Merlin didn't need his sword, he remembered now. Merlin needed him to find something. Arthur let go of the bandages and looked down. All around him were phials and bottles, amber and cobalt glass, small pots of wood and clay. He dropped to his knees and grabbed at one after another. They were labeled in Gaius' elegant hand, but as Arthur tried to read them, the letters squirmed and shifted under his gaze. Tiny containers with their inscrutable writing overflowed his hands and spilled, shattering on stone. He realized he could hear Merlin's breathing, but there was something wrong with it. He reached out in the darkness to find Merlin but grasped only air. _Merlin, Merlin, MERLIN!_ Arthur tried to shout, but his throat wouldn't make a sound. 

"Merlin!" Arthur sat up, startled by his own voice, suddenly wide awake. Moonlight revealed where the young man lay shirtless and bandaged in the scattered straw, shivering violently. Arthur crawled to his side. Merlin shuddered and shuddered as the sound of his teeth chattering broke the stillness of the night. His eyes were screwed up tight and he seemed unaware of Arthur's presence. " _Merlin_ ," called Arthur, patting the side of his face. "Wake up. What's wrong?"

Merlin opened his eyes but continued to shake in Arthur's hands. "C-cold, s-s-s-so cold."

Cold? Camelot's weather this time of year, just before the harvest festival, was something he'd been grateful for. The days were temperate, the nights generally mild, and the breeze that flowed in from the window was a clean and pleasant change from dirty straw and dank stone. But Merlin was undeniably shivering, without anything but Arthur's cloak for warmth. In the pale moonlight, Merlin's eyes were wide and desperate.

Arthur grasped Merlin's hands. They were cold, clammy. He rubbed them between his own and as they warmed, Merlin's breathing slowed a little. His teeth still chattered though, and his face was miserable. Arthur continued to rub along Merlin's arms. They were as skinny as they looked, but surprisingly well-muscled under his touch. Arthur found himself appreciating Merlin's lean, taut physique. This time of year in Ealdor, Merlin would have been gathering in the harvest alongside the rest of his village. And if these days he gathered herbs instead of wheat, he still carried Arthur's armor and weapons, scrubbed the floors of his chamber, and drew bucket after bucket of water for his bath. It was no wonder, then, if Merlin was stronger than he looked. Arthur caught himself. The feeling of Merlin's body under his hands was hardly where his mind ought to be. 

Arthur's efforts seemed to be helping, but Merlin's shivering hadn't stopped. Arthur thought of giving Merlin his shirt, but it wasn't as though he could wear it properly, any more than he could wear his own against the tender, wounded skin of his back. _Very well_ , Arthur thought, _It's no different from a winter campaign with my knights._ He reached down and removed the cloak. Merlin's hands grasped instinctively for his only cover. Arthur stripped his own shirt and and laid it on the ground, then lowered himself to lie on it, his back to Merlin's chest. Merlin whimpered softly in confusion. Arthur unfurled the cloak over both of them, careful of Merlin's injuries. He scooted back towards Merlin until his body touched the young man's, then stretched to create as much contact as possible between them. Merlin's skin was cold. Arthur could feel his goose-pimpled flesh and small, hard nipples against his back. He breathed with deliberate slowness, hoping to calm Merlin's own panting.

It took several minutes, but steadily Merlin began to warm against Arthur. At last his shivering stopped and his breathing deepened. "Better?" Arthur asked.

He felt Merlin nod vigorously against his shoulder. "Better," Merlin sighed. "Thank you." As he spoke, his lips brushed against Arthur's neck. Arthur shuddered, against his will.

"Get some rest," Arthur murmured. 

Finally comfortable, Merlin soon fell asleep. 

Arthur remained awake for some time, intensely aware of the body pressed against him: Merlin's arm slipped under his own, the long fingers that trailed in the soft hair of his chest, the hand hovering over his heart. Something ached within him, not unpleasantly. Deep in his belly, a warm feeling grew. He found himself lacing his fingers between Merlin's. 

His last thought conscious thought was, _Oh no._

_Not Merlin._

\-------------

Arthur awoke to uncomfortable heat and the feeling of sweat sliding down his spine. 

Early morning sunlight shone through the window. Abruptly remembering himself, Arthur disentangled his fingers from Merlin's and withdrew from the cloak to sit upright. Merlin was still asleep, but his bandages were drenched in sweat and his forehead and cheeks were flushed. His lips moved slightly in sleep and his forehead creased in an expression of discomfort. Arthur loosened the cloak around Merlin's chest and put his hand to Merlin's forehead. It was burning hot to the touch.

Arthur sat back on his heels. _Fever_. His eyes fell on the bandages crisscrossing Merlin's back. Blotches of red and yellow bled through the gauze. There was no doubt about it. Despite everything he and Gaius tried, Merlin's wounds were infected. For a moment, rage welled up within him. It wasn't _fair_. Hadn't he done everything that could be done? How could Merlin be _worse_? It wasn't just unfair, it was stupid, maddeningly senseless. Four days ago they had ridden back to Camelot in triumph. Now they were prisoners of Arthur's own father, condemned to the dungeons for liberating Ealdor. Where was the justice in that?

And Merlin was sick.

Arthur wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all. He wanted to rage at his father. But most of all, he wanted to rid himself of this feeling of powerlessness. Merlin needed him. He was the crown prince of Camelot and he couldn't even protect his own manservant, his friend, his...Merlin. What a cruel, stupid joke.

Arthur watched Merlin. That was all he could do. Watch as Merlin twitched and sweated in his sleep. Watch, and wait for Gaius.

\-------------

"It's as I feared," Gaius muttered.

He and Arthur peered at Merlin's back, scanning the wounds there for signs of infection. It wasn't good. The newly removed bandages were stained with pale red and yellow, though his lacerations should have closed by now. Arthur could feel the heat radiating off of Merlin's body without touching him. And most worrying, in Arthur's opinion, was Merlin's unnatural quiet. He submitted to Gaius's poking and prodding without a word, although he twisted away when Gaius pressed bruised comfrey leaves to his back. Between treatments--and there were many--Merlin hung his head and folded his arms around his knees. He answered Gaius' questions sparingly, in a monotone. It seemed to take all his concentration to be still and there was none of the easy chatter that Arthur had grown accustomed to. 

"Can't you give him something for the pain before you do all this?" Arthur asked, as Merlin twitched away again.

"I wish I could," Gaius said, "But I cannot assess his progress without knowing how much pain he still feels. The drugs can mask symptoms that the infection is worsening. We cannot afford to let that happen." Gaius poured water into a clay cup and mixed a grey-green powder into it. "Drink all of this."

Merlin lifted his head dubiously and took the cup. He coughed and spluttered with his first sip. 

"All of it, Merlin," Gaius prompted.

Merlin held his nose and tossed back the rest of the contents. Gaius handed him a sprig of mint to chew. 

"What's it made of, Arthur's socks?" Merlin managed.

Arthur scoffed. He should have felt relief, but he suspected Merlin of making the joke with the intent of deflecting his concern. Something in his voice was too tight and his laugh felt forced.

"Those socks will need washing, _Mer_ lin," Arthur drawled in reply, "So I expect you to comply with your treatments. The longer you lay about, the worse my washing will smell."

"George can do it," Merlin retorted. "I'm taking the day off."

Gaius handed Merlin the tiny spoonful of pain medicine, and Merlin swallowed it eagerly. Handing the spoon back, he met Gaius' eyes. "I'll be fine," he murmured. "I just need to rest. And I've got Arthur. Don't worry, Gaius. I'll be fine. Really."

Gaius' arched eyebrow did not lower and he searched Merlin's face as if looking for answers. He squeezed Merlin's hand and nodded. Arthur helped Gaius stand and gather his medicine bag. "I'll be back this afternoon with the rest, Sire." His expression softened and he mouthed a silent _thank you_ to Arthur. He ruffled Merlin's hair and took his leave. Merlin smiled gamely back at the old man as the guards opened and then re-locked the cell door. 

When Gaius' robed form was no longer visible on the stairs, Merlin sagged and dropped his head again.

Arthur watched him. There was no doubt left in his mind.

Merlin wasn't getting better.

\-------------

Arthur twirled another piece of straw between his fingers until it broke, just as he had been doing for the last hour or so. Merlin lay curled at his feet, sleeping deeply. Arthur was grateful for Gaius' medicine, but he missed Merlin's company and gods, the afternoon was long. Gwen had been unable to bring dinner to them, but she'd sent another servant. That was well and good as far as food went, but it still left Arthur staring at iron bars and stone walls for hours on end. Even the boredom wouldn't have been so bad, were it not for the worry in the pit of his stomach. Throughout the afternoon, Merlin had alternated between clutching Arthur's cloak to his body and kicking it away in his sleep. His fever still hadn't broken. Arthur couldn't remember a time when he felt so helpless.

Or when it had mattered so much.

Memories crowded his mind. Merlin in the stocks. Merlin waking him in the morning. Merlin tightening his armor. He recalled specific moments with new grief. The way Merlin had saluted him with his eyes, and then drained Arthur's goblet of poisoned wine in front of Bayard and Uther. The way he'd looked when Arthur sacked him over accusations against the false knight Valiant. The way he'd taken the blame when Arthur was besotted with Sophia. The way he'd looked when the guards dragged him from his cell, just days ago. How often had Merlin shown his devotion to Arthur? And for what? For the honor of cleaning his chambers and polishing his armor? Merlin had the heart of a lion. No matter what Arthur faced, he always faced it with Merlin at his side. 

He knelt beside the sleeping boy and brushed Merlin's fringe away from his eyes. Merlin's forehead was hot and there was a light sheen of sweat on his face. He seemed more comfortable this way, than when the periodic chills took him. If Merlin remembered Arthur's body pressed against him for warmth, he hadn't acknowledged it, for which Arthur was grateful. Though there was nothing untoward about sharing body heat, he feared that Merlin would sense...well, what? It wasn't as though Merlin didn't know Arthur cared for him. He had risked his father's censure to rescue Merlin's village, had risked his life to cure Merlin with the Mortaeus flower, and had been thrown into prison more than once for standing up for Merlin. Arthur was not free with words, the way Merlin was. Not the words that mattered. But surely Merlin could divine from his actions just how deeply Arthur felt for him. So why should he feel that he had something to hide?

_Because I do_ , Arthur answered himself. Merlin was his only friend. Merlin alone understood him. There was no one whose advice Arthur heeded more. Not even, he admitted ruefully, his father's. But there was more to it than that. When Arthur looked at Merlin, something in him melted. All his life he had been trained to fight and to lead. But Merlin had changed him somehow. He no longer felt like a weapon, or a title. Merlin looked at Arthur as though he already saw the king in him. He trusted Arthur's heart even more than his skill with a sword. Merlin made him want to be, not just a strong man, but a _good_ man. And Arthur loved him for it.

_Oh gods_ , Arthur thought. _I'm in love...with Merlin._ He felt like a fool. Was it not enough that the second most powerful man in the kingdom was beholden to his manservant? Was it not enough that he turned for counsel to the boy who blacked his boots and buckled his sword belt? Did he really lose his heart to the rustic youth who bumbled into his path mere months ago? It was enough to make a cat laugh. After all, it wasn't as though Arthur would allow himself to act on his desire. Certainly he could compel Merlin to warm his bed, but his stomach roiled at the thought. And to do otherwise...would he court Merlin, as though he were some visiting princess? How could Merlin possibly feel free to refuse the crown prince of Camelot? His father might approve of a dalliance that risked no royal bastards, but Arthur didn't only desire Merlin for... _that.._.although warmth spread to his cheeks when he thought about-- _No._ He shook his head to clear his mind. And then again, his father could scarcely be expected to accept a lowly serving boy as a princely consort. But none of these were the real reason Arthur could never act on his desire. 

In all the world, Arthur trusted only one person. And it was the young man at his feet, the young man who allowed himself to be broken for Arthur's sake, the young man who risked his life again and again for Arthur's safety, the young man who looked at him and knew all his weaknesses and still saw greatness. There was no one dearer to his heart, he realized now. And no one whose loss would be so unbearable. No. Whatever his confused heart wanted from Merlin, it wasn't worth all he could lose. He would discipline his feelings, as he always did, and Merlin never needed to know.

But in the stillness of the afternoon, in the privacy of his mind, Arthur couldn't entirely banish the sensation of Merlin's hand pressed to his chest. He allowed himself the tenderness of that memory. It was his private joy, and his private sorrow.

Merlin slept.

\--------------

The sun's rays were fading from the floor of the cell when Merlin awoke. He was groggy and tired, although he'd slept most of the day. The pain in his back was intense, even with the medicine still in his veins. For a moment his vision swam, and then he blinked and a familiar figure came into focus. Arthur was sitting cross-legged, watching him with a fierce expression. Had Arthur watched him all day? He looked tired, too. Merlin knew he was worried. Deep down, Merlin was too. For all his reassurances to Gaius, he'd studied the physician's work too well not to recognize his symptoms. His pain and lethargy were worse. His wounds hadn't closed. If he couldn't get out of this dirty cell, he wasn't sure how he could possibly recover.

He opened his eyes all the way. Arthur's frown faded and he assumed a comforting smile that Merlin knew was for his own benefit.

"I was going to finish your dinner, if you didn't wake up soon. The capon is excellent." Arthur grinned wickedly.

Merlin reached one hand for Arthur, who helped him sit up. The food looked delicious and the plates definitely bore the mark of the palace kitchens, but instead of hunger, a wave of nausea swept over him. He shook his head. "Can't...eat."

"Merlin, you haven't eaten all day. You can't heal if you don't eat. You have to have _something_ \--and that's an order."

Merlin groaned. Sitting up, he could feel every mark of the whip stretching the length of his back. His bruises pulsed with pain in time with his heartbeat. His head was still fuzzy and his body felt heavy. Staying upright was harder than before. He took a deep breath, then reached for a piece of chicken from his plate. He ate it without appetite, but gradually the nausea retreated and he found himself able to eat a little more meat and a few bites of seasoned potato.

Arthur watched Merlin pick at his dinner. He kept a smile on his lips, but inside he was appalled. Merlin looked _worse_ , somehow, even than this morning. Despite resting most of the day, there were the beginnings of dark circles under his eyes. He seemed listless and weak. _All things to tell Gaius_ , he reminded himself. _Gaius will know what to do._ Still, his chest tightened with concern and dark fears clouded his thoughts. 

Merlin chewed his last bite and gestured with his hands wide, signalling, _Is that enough?_ Arthur nodded his acceptance.

"Water," Merlin croaked, "Thirsty." Arthur dipped the metal cup in their water bucket and handed it to him, noting that Merlin's hands trembled and threatened to spill the contents. He drank eagerly and handed the cup back to Arthur twice before setting it down and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Thanks."

"Are you capable of an entire sentence, or is a little dinner conversation too much to ask?" Arthur did not wait for a reply. "I'm only joking, Merlin. You only have to stay awake long enough for me to change the bandages." He hesitated. "How is the pain?"

"Not too bad," Merlin answered quickly. Arthur gave an exasperated sigh. 

"You do know that I can tell when you're lying, don't you?"

Merlin smiled a little sadly. "It's...pretty bad when the medicine wears off."

"Come on, then. No sense putting it off." And Arthur gestured to the cloth bundle that now contained vials of medicine, salve, bandages, and other supplies. Gaius had returned in the early afternoon with a small infirmary wrapped in cloth, and a dizzying number of instructions for Arthur. While Merlin slept, Arthur passed some time repeating them to himself, touching each of the components to memorize their order and function.

Merlin turned his back to Arthur, without protest this time. Whether that indicated trust or a loss of willpower to oppose him wasn't clear. There wasn't enough light to make out the condition of Merlin's injuries, but as unwrapped the gauze, Arthur could feel the heat still radiating from his body. _Not good_ , Arthur thought. And several times Merlin gasped during Arthur's work as the gauze clung to his skin. Arthur moved as gently as he could, but it was impossible to eliminate Merlin's discomfort at having his wounds dressed. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm nearly done." His hands were surer, even in the fading light, but he still felt clumsy each time he hurt the young man. 

Merlin, for his part, felt nearly as safe in Arthur's hands as in Gaius'. If anything, he felt self-conscious. Arthur shouldn't have to do this, shouldn't have to touch his body and clean his wounds. He suddenly felt aware of himself under Arthur's hands: his naked torso with its skinny frame, lean muscles, bony shoulder blades. For a moment he imagined what it would be like to be touched by those hands in pleasure instead of pain. What it would be like to give over to Arthur's strength and will. He imagined being whole again, those hands running over his unmarked flesh, claiming him-- _No_ , Merlin thought. Not even when the illusion gave him relief from the pain could Merlin afford to indulge himself. Arthur needed him to be the friend he'd always been. He couldn't allow his weakness to harm their bond. He _had_ to heal. He and Arthur would be released. Life would return to what it was. No fantasy was more important than fulfilling their twin destiny.

When Arthur finished dressing his wounds and replacing the gauze, he carefully measured out the pain medicine. Merlin gulped it down and handed back the tiny spoon. Already Merlin swayed slightly. _Too soon for the potion to take effect_ , Arthur noted. Merlin's eyelids drooped and he sighed deeply. "You'd better lie down," said Arthur. "You'll feel better soon." Merlin accepted his hands and eased himself onto his side. Arthur re-tucked his cloak to cover Merlin's chest and legs. Merlin gave him a weak smile and then closed his eyes.

Arthur watched him intently. Merlin's long lashes fluttered closed as an expression of pain crossed his face. Arthur watched until it passed. Nothing about Merlin's condition was reassuring. He'd hardly eaten. He looked more tired than before he'd gone to sleep. He'd stayed awake for such a short time and had barely spoken. He felt far away, in a place of suffering beyond Arthur's reach. More than ever, Arthur ached with concern. What if Gaius couldn't heal him? What if Arthur's efforts weren't enough? Could he actually...lose Merlin? Like this? The thought was too cruel to entertain. Everything Merlin had survived, every time he'd risked his life for Arthur--it was simply unthinkable. A world without Merlin in it. His mind refused the idea. 

Merlin would simply have to get better. Arthur would make sure of it.

He had to.


	8. Out of Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's condition deteriorates. Time has run out, for everyone.

A hand clamped down on Arthur's mouth. He reached for his sword before he opened his eyes. In the next instant he realized two things: one, he was unarmed in a dungeon, and two, it was Merlin's hand. 

"Shhhh..." Merlin whispered.

Merlin's hair was haloed by morning light and his eyes were wide. "We have to get out of here." 

Merlin crouched over him, one hand pressed to Arthur's lips, one finger over his own. He reached a hand down and Arthur took it, allowing Merlin to pull him to his feet. 

Merlin took careful, soundless steps in the straw, feeling along the wall. Arthur followed his movements, curious and uncertain. 

"The soldiers will return soon," Merlin whispered. "Come on, Arthur. We've got to get back to Camelot." 

As Arthur observed with growing concern, he realized that one of the guards was watching too, hand on the hilt of his sword. 

"Merlin?"

But Merlin didn't answer. He continued to pace the perimeter of the cell, searching intently. Something was wrong. Merlin's voice was pitched slightly too high. He spoke slightly too quickly. His pupils were tiny and his eyes darted around the cell without any hint of recognition. 

" _Merlin,_ " Arthur said carefully.

Merlin spun to face him. " _What are you doing?_ They're going to _hear you_."

"Merlin...where do you think we are?"

"How should I know? At least I'm trying to work out a way to escape!"

The guards were talking to each other, but Arthur couldn't make out what they were saying. The unease in his stomach grew.

"Merlin," Arthur tried in a softer tone, "I need you to sit down."

"And I need you to listen to me for once!" Merlin's eyes were wild. "If they wanted a ransom, we wouldn't still be here. Your father would pay it."

"Merlin, this is _Camelot_. We're in the dungeons. Don't you remember?"

Merlin looked at him without comprehension. From the corner of his eye, Arthur watched the guards confer. One of them shook his head and pointed towards Merlin.

"I remember that if we don't get out of here, they're going to _kill us_. If I can just find..." Merlin's hands roved over the stone and his voice became an unintelligible mutter. The guards began to move.

Arthur hissed, "Merlin, sit _down_. That's an order!"

Merlin whirled on him, his pupils almost consumed with pale blue. "Why do you never just _listen to me,"_ he shouted. Both guards' hands went to their sword hilts.

"Because you're not making sense!" Arthur cried desperately. "They're going to separate us. They'll take you away and I won't be able to--"

The guards approached the cell. One reached for a ring of heavy keys.

Merlin's voice grew frantic. _"You're_ not making sense! You think that I'm an idiot because I'm just a servant and you never listen to me and now we're going to die in a dungeon a hundred miles away from Camelot because the crown prince is a stubborn _arse_ \--"

_Crack._ Arthur slapped Merlin across the face.

Merlin's hand flew to his cheek, where a handprint was already reddening. Merlin's eyes were suddenly bright with tears, but for a moment Merlin was himself. His voice was hoarse and shaky.

"...Arthur?"

Merlin eyes rolled back as he crumpled and pitched forward into Arthur's arms.

Arthur sank to his knees, struggling to hold on as Merlin's body convulsed.

" _GUARDS,_ " Arthur bellowed. "Get Gaius-- _now!"_

He cradled Merlin's head in his hands as the boy thrashed on the stone floor.

\-------------

Gaius rushed down the corridor towards the council chambers, his heart in his throat. In his mind was one indelible image: the black-haired boy he loved like a son, lying still on the stone floor of a dungeon cell. Merlin's limbs no longer convulsed, but, just as disquieting, he was unresponsive to light or speech or even pain. He lay slumped in Arthur's arms, wounds protected only by his bandages, but made no move to turn over. His fever raged unabated by any of Gaius' remedies.

The old man threw open the king's chamber doors without knocking. Uther looked up from his papers, and seeing Gaius' reddened face, made a gesture of dismissal. His councilors swept out of the room hurriedly, shutting the door behind themselves.

"Gaius?"

"Sire. I am here to ask you again, to beg you--"

"Is the purpose of your intrusion to try my patience?" Uther interrupted, irritably. "We've had this conversation already. Merlin knew what he was doing. His sentence stands. I don't want to hear another word about--"

"Merlin is dying."

Silence suffused the chamber. Gaius could hear his own heartbeat as he waited for the king to respond.

"Dying? Gaius, really..." But Uther's voice was more shocked than skeptical.

"It may already be too late for me to save him. All I ask is that you allow me to try. Sire--" Gaius' voice broke. He looked at the ground and struggled to regain control. In a softer voice he pleaded, "Let me bring him home."

Uther pretended to look at the parchment in front of him, studiously avoiding Gaius' red and teary eyes.

"Very well." Uther nodded to a guard. "Release my son and his manservant immediately."

"Thank you, Sire," murmured Gaius.

Uther met his eyes. "And Gaius, I'm--. I hope the boy recovers."

Gaius bowed and swept from the room, followed by the guard.

\-------------

They made a strange procession: the old man, the prince, and the serving boy in his arms. Gaius shoved open the door to his chambers and swept a worktable clear to make room for Merlin. Arthur laid him down gently and supported him as Gaius slid blankets under his injured back. It seemed to matter little enough to Merlin. The boy was soaked with sweat and his lips moved silently. He did not react to the cool cloth Gaius swept across his brow nor to the pungent salts Gaius held under his nose. Merlin was lost, somewhere beyond their reach. 

Gaius checked Merlin's pulse again and listened to his breathing. His heartbeat was steady but weak, and his breathing was labored. Gaius' hope flagged. The infection must have spread to his lungs. They hadn't much time. He reached for his medicine bag and coin purse.

"Arthur?"

"Just tell me what to do," the prince replied in a tight voice.

"Watch him," Gaius answered. "There is an apothecary in the lower town. I need stronger herbs than any I have here. Tend him while I'm gone. I'll return as soon as I can."

Arthur nodded. He pulled up a three-legged stool and folded his hands together, elbows on the table beside Merlin's form. 

Gaius returned for a moment and placed a hand over Merlin's forehead. Then he tore himself away and was gone.

Merlin lay still. Arthur was alone.

\-------------

Arthur watched and waited. Sometimes the moments between Merlin's exhale and inhale dragged on too long. At those moments, Arthur held his own breath, unable to inhale until he saw the skinny chest rise and expand again. Merlin's eyes moved rapidly behind his heavy lids and his mouth formed unintelligible words. Arthur's only comfort was that Merlin didn't seem to be in pain anymore. But that only made him feel further away, adrift on strange seas where Arthur couldn't follow. 

The worry in the pit of his stomach grew as time passed without Gaius' return. _What can be taking the old fool so long?_ , thought Arthur, ungenerously. Gaius would find a remedy, surely, but would he be in time? Merlin hadn't regained consciousness and he seemed to be slipping away even as Arthur watched.

_Alright, Merlin_ , Arthur thought at him. _That's enough._

_Stop it, now. Just stop it. Get off your lazy backside and come back to me._

_Gods, you really are the worst manservant._

"You are, you know." Arthur startled at the sound of his own voice, but continued aloud, "You're the worst manservant I've ever had, bar none. My bathwater is never hot. My breakfast is usually cold. _And_ you filch the best bits for yourself, don't think I don't notice. You're never where I can find you, and that's when you're _not_ in the tavern." Arthur caught himself smiling as he warmed to his topic. "You hardly stop talking, unless I want you to speak. You never keep your opinion to yourself. And after all this time, I still don't think you know that I'm the prince. But I'm not sacking you, so stop laying about and wake up." 

Merlin didn't respond. The half-smile slipped from Arthur's face. He groaned with frustration and ran his fingers through his hair, pressing the heels of his hands to his tired eyes. Tears stung there, but did not fall. Wearily, Arthur took the cloth from Merlin's forehead again and dipped it in the icy well water, wringing it out before replacing it. He took a second cloth and wetted it, then drew it across Merlin's cheeks, throat, arms, and chest as the heat rising from Merlin's body lessened slightly. 

"You're always going on about my destiny, this great king I'm supposed to be," Arthur continued as he worked. "You have no idea the pressure it is to have a destiny. All these expectations placed on my future. And all I'm asking you to do is come back and face them with me." His voice grew softer. "That's why I'm not sacking you. Merlin, no one else stands up to me the way you do. No one else sees past my crown or my title. There's no one else I can trust to tell me the truth, whether I like it or not. You're a shoddy servant, but...you're my best friend. And I need you."

Arthur's voice was a low whisper now. "Merlin, you've no idea how lonely I was before you came along. _I_ didn't even know. I was surrounded with my father's grey-bearded cronies and eager young knights trying to prove themselves and nobles currying favor and servants who actually knew their place. I didn't know what it meant to have someone watch out for me until you were there---underfoot as often as not, but always there when I needed you. When you look at me...sometimes I think I can see what you see, and it makes me want to be that man. I'm better, since you. I know I'm still an arrogant prat, but you can see it, can't you? And it's because of you. So...so you can't die, Merlin. Because you can't leave me. How am I supposed to be the king you see in me without the one person I can trust? How can I face my destiny without you by my side?"

The tears slipped free now as Arthur's voice broke. He leaned over Merlin and pressed one hand to Merlin's chest, over his heart. Arthur intertwined his other hand with Merlin's and drew it to his lips. "Please, Merlin. Just come back to me. I can't lose you."

Arthur bowed his head and pressed Merlin's hand to his own heart. 

"Merlin...I love you," he whispered. His heart pounded in the stillness.

A thin voice broke the silence. "Arthur..."

Arthur's eyes shot open and he looked to Merlin's face in hope of seeing a sliver of blue eyes or the ghost of a smile, but Merlin was unchanged. What Arthur saw instead made his breath catch.

Rising up from Merlin's chest, beneath Arthur's hand, was a light. Spilling from between his fingers, were rays of pure sun.

Arthur choked off a cry of surprise. His instincts urged him to pull away from the strange light, but wonder kept him there. As he watched, slender tendrils of gold wrapped themselves around his hand and began to lick their way up his arm like flame. There was no pain, no heat, but a tingling sensation that made Arthur shiver with familiarity. It was... _Merlin_. The lightness in his heart, the feeling of playfulness, the... _impudence_...was unmistakable.

Which meant...Merlin had magic. Arthur's stomach dropped. Dread rushed into his heart, and as it did, the light faltered and receded down his arm, sinking back towards Merlin's chest. 

"N-no! Wait!" Arthur felt like he was going mad. Merlin had magic, _magic_. Had he really lied to Arthur all these years? Was it possible that Merlin didn't know himself? Surely if he had magic, he would never have allowed himself to be beaten. Surely he would have healed his wounds before things got so bad. "Wait," he called out again, "Can...can you heal him?"

The light bubbled up again like a tiny fountain beneath his fingers. Arthur felt a surge of hope, dangerous and desperate. "Please. I'll do anything, just...just heal him." As if in response, the tendrils shot forth again, twining around Arthur's arm like ivy. The light flowed over his skin and Arthur felt the hairs on his arm raise, prickling with faint energy. Arthur fought to keep still as he felt the light sink beneath his skin as well, racing up his veins towards his heart. He didn't have to look. He could feel it bloom inside his chest. He sobbed at the sudden intimacy. _Merlin_... _don't leave me._

The light surrounded his heart, at once wild and terribly familiar. For a moment, Arthur let himself feel Merlin's presence. Then, just as quickly as it blossomed, the light began to weaken. He felt it flicker like a flame in the wind. "Don't go," he pleaded. "Show me what to do. Don't leave me." The sensation surrounding his heart changed. The light was still there, but now it tugged at him like a child at his sleeve. He felt a question. The light needed--no, _Merlin_ needed something.

Needed him.

"You can heal him," Arthur whispered again, "But you need...me?"

Weaker now, the tugging answered him. Arthur pressed Merlin's hand to his heart.

"Yes." His voice was low, but steady. "Anything."

Suddenly there was no separation between Arthur and the golden embers that flared to life within him. Arthur's heart lurched with a feeling of hope--his? Merlin's?--and then was flooded with wave upon wave of love. He was afloat in a sea of gold, carried on a current of pure ecstasy. At the same time, he felt the pull of the magic on his heart. 

He let it in. For a moment, nothing happened. Then a dizzying sensation spread through his body. Arthur dropped Merlin's hand and caught himself against the table as the magic drained his strength. He didn't resist it. Somehow, even though this was _magic_ \--magic he'd been warned against, magic he'd fought against his entire life--somehow he felt safe giving himself over to it. Arthur reached for Merlin again, spreading his fingers over the bare chest, willing his own strength to flow into the boy's heart. Motes of gold fell from his fingertips, disappearing like sparks beneath Merlin's skin. 

As Arthur watched, the light spread from Merlin's heart to suffuse his entire form, consuming him like flame. Was he imagining the color returning to Merlin's cheeks? Unmistakably, Merlin's chest began to rise and fall in full, deep, even breaths. And before his eyes, the ugly weals that wrapped around his torso and cut across his neck began to fade, until only the thinnest white scars remained. The light flared between them both and for a moment Arthur could feel Merlin's pain ebb away, a sense of peace settling in its place. 

And then the light was gone. Arthur gasped at the sudden loss of connection. Merlin lay as still as before, but his lips were dark pink again and no longer moved in agitation. Arthur slid a hand behind Merlin's shoulder and felt for his wounds under the bandages. His fingers found nothing but closed, fine lines, barely raised. "Merlin," he whispered. There was no answer but Merlin's gentle, even breathing.

The tears Arthur had been withholding burst forth in a torrent.

Arthur dropped Merlin's hand and backed away, suddenly overcome. He'd used magic. He'd let the magic use _him_. And Merlin...Merlin had magic. His relief could not altogether quash the sharp pain of betrayal. Merlin had lied to him. Had everything been a lie, since their first meeting? Magic was evil. Magic corrupted. And Merlin was magic. But another part of Arthur protested. Merlin had never used magic against him, Arthur was sure. Why would a sorcerer, one so powerful he could work magic while unconscious, labor as a servant without status or glory? Why split his knuckles scrubbing the floor of Arthur's chambers? Why struggle under the weight of Arthur's armor and weapons? Why accept the abuse Arthur so often hurled at him? 

_But he lied_ , the other voice answered bitterly. The fear in his heart had vanished, but so had his willingness to be vulnerable. He was in an impossible position and the one person he wanted to speak to was still far beyond his reach. Arthur heard footsteps approach the chamber door. He wiped his eyes and crossed his arms as Gaius entered the room.

"How is he?" Gaius demanded brusquely. Gaius approached Merlin's side, his arms full of bundled herbs and stoppered vials.

Arthur forced a smile and spread his arms. "See for yourself."

A dark liquid spattered across the floor as Gaius dropped the vial in his hand. The old man's eyebrow arched in shock and his lips parted without speaking. Arthur reached for the purchases remaining in Gaius' arms, gently placing them on a nearby table. Gaius approached Merlin in wonder.

"Here," Arthur handed Gaius a pair of heavy medical shears. Wordlessly, Gaius took them and cut the bandages from Merlin's torso. Arthur helped him raise Merlin to a sitting position, supporting his lolling head. The stained bandages fell away from healthy skin. Merlin's scars were pale and only the worst of them were still tinged red. Gaius ran a hand over Merlin's back. The boy shivered, but did not awaken. Carefully, Arthur lowered Merlin back down and arranged the blanket to cushion his head again.

"I don't understand." Gaius shook his head. He began to examine Merlin's eyes, his color, his heartbeat. "It's a miracle, Arthur!"

Silence answered him.

"Arthur?"

As Gaius turned he caught sight of a flap of red cloak. It disappeared as the chamber door closed.

Gaius turned his attention back to the boy. "Oh Merlin," he murmured, "What did you do now?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just an aside: the scene with Merlin's delirium and seizures are taken from personal experience. Arthur doesn't have the medical training for either, I'm afraid. I won't play the role of medical authority, other than to recommend that you *not* slap someone who's delirious. But gods forbid, if you're ever in that situation, you'll understand the fear and frustration that drove him to it.


	9. The Waiting Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur struggles to come to terms with Merlin's secret. What comes next for them, only time will tell...

Merlin didn't wake that evening, or during the long night that followed. Gaius moved his cot to be next to the boy in case there was any change in his condition. Merlin's color was good, his breathing strong, and in place of infected wounds there was only a network of thin white scars. Gaius couldn't deny the evidence of his eyes. Merlin was healing, which meant it was merely a matter of time. After nearly losing the nearest thing to his own son, Gaius could wait. 

But this was no ordinary healing process. That did give him some worry, he couldn't deny it. Merlin's miraculous healing and Arthur's disappearance had to be linked. However Merlin had healed himself--and Gaius was certain that was what had occurred--Arthur had witnessed it. A part of him was terrified that the next moment would bring guards to the door to take Merlin away. But when he remembered Arthur's face and the way he'd taken charge of Merlin, he couldn't bring himself to believe ill of the prince. Arthur cared too deeply for Merlin to endanger him. But that didn't mean he was prepared to accept Merlin's... gifts. It was a great deal to ask of a young man who'd been raised to hate and fear magic. Whatever Arthur had seen, he was struggling.

\-------------

Morning sunlight woke Gaius. The old man hurried to Merlin's side. There was no change. Merlin's chest rose and fell easily. His brow was smooth, and there was a healthy flush to his cheeks and lips. Gaius sighed. Magical healing was unpredictable, and his own gifts in that area were limited. He thought back to a beloved memory, his dear Alice patiently instructing him. Before the Purge, she had been his teacher... and his betrothed. Her knowledge of the magical healing arts had been unparalleled. He could recall her voice and knew what she would tell him on this occasion: "Magic can cure an illness or a wound, but the body must guide its own healing process. Give it time." _You're right of course, Alice_ , Gaius thought. 

The day ahead was a busy one. He would see if Gwen could spare a little time to watch Merlin. He had many errands to run but didn't want to leave the boy unattended. When Merlin awakened, he mustn't be alone.

\-------------

The long day passed uneventfully. Gwen sat with Merlin while Gaius delivered medicine and saw patients in the Citadel and Lower Town. When he returned, she was chattering merrily at an unconscious Merlin.   
  
"I don't know what's come over Arthur," Gwen mused. "He's been horrible since getting out. He was a proper ray of sunshine in the dungeons by comparison." Gwen trailed off as she bit her lip. "It's to do with you, isn't it? You'll just have to wake up and put him to rights, Merlin. No one else knows what to do when he gets this way. Not that I've ever seen him quite this way..." She leaned in closer and whispered, "You have to get better, Merlin. It's not just me that says it. Gaius needs you, and Arthur, and even Morgana's worried. I need you to wake up. We all do." She leaned forward and planted a kiss on his forehead. When he didn't stir, she stroked his hair and looked to Gaius.

"Mustn't worry, Gwen," he reassured her. "He's come through the worst of it. Give the body time to heal and the mind will follow." She smiled a little sadly and nodded. 

"I just miss him, Gaius."

"We all do."

"And... and I think something's wrong with Arthur. He needs Merlin. They're like two sides--"

"--of the same coin," completed Gaius. "Yes. I've often thought the same myself. We must hope they have the sense to see it too. Well, you shouldn't spend your whole day here. And Gwen? Thank you."

"Of course, Gaius. When he wakes up?"

"I'll send word. Now run along. And thank your mistress for all of this." Gaius gestured to the cloth-lined basket filled with cold meats, bread, and pastries which Morgana had sent along with her handmaid. 

Gwen bobbed a quick curtsy and left.

Gaius took up his seat, placed his glasses on his nose, and opened a dusty tome. He began to read aloud: "Alexander of Tralles would admonish us that 'The duty of the physician is to cool what is hot, to warm what is cold, to dry what is moist, and to moisten what is dry. He should look upon the patient as a besieged city, and try to rescue him with every means that art and science placed at his command." In consideration whereof, our lofty charge must be to..."

Gaius later reflected that his readings might have done more to ensure Merlin's sound sleep than prompt a return to consciousness.

\-------------

Late in the evening, as the candles were guttering, Gaius awoke to a soft knock at his door. A hand pushed it open partway and Arthur's face peeked inside. On seeing Merlin's unconscious form, Arthur entered unbidden.

"How is he, Gaius?'

Gaius sighed. "He is...well enough."

"But he hasn't awakened?"

"No, but he was very close to death. I rather feared we'd lose him. Sire, I cannot thank you enough for the pains you took to care for him in the dungeons. Merlin may not be my child but... well, that is... if anything had happened to him..."

Gaius' eyes were misty. Arthur averted his gaze. "It was nothing," he muttered awkwardly. Gaius swallowed hard and nodded.

Arthur approached Merlin's sickbed. He raised a hand and made as if to touch him, then seemed to catch himself. "But he'll recover?"

"I am sure of it now." Gaius paused. "It's a miracle."

"A miracle... yes." Arthur raised his eyes sharply to read Gaius' expression, but Gaius looked placidly back. Arthur felt that each man was silently testing the other.

"Word is to be sent to me the moment he regains consciousness," Arthur ordered. Gaius bowed. "And Gaius? Say nothing of this visit to him if... _when_ he awakens. I rely on your discretion." 

Gaius' eyebrow rose, but he bowed a second time as Arthur closed the door behind him. Gaius shook his head. These young people were beyond fathoming.

\-------------

The next two days were much the same. Merlin slept. Gaius puttered. There were more visitors, among them Morgana and Gwen, who brought along palace gossip and wary ruminations on Arthur's moodiness. A scullery maid delivered a covered dish of meat pies from Cook. The rumpled handful of wildflowers that appeared were unattributed, but Gwen and Morgana were sure they were from the scullery maid herself, judging by her blush and hasty exit. Gaius chuckled. Merlin would be embarrassed when he awoke to the evidence of how much he'd been missed. It was true that Merlin's easy smile and awkward enthusiasm were a part of palace life now, especially for his fellow servants. "You'd better wake up soon," Gaius admonished him, "or I don't know who's going to eat all this." Merlin himself subsisted on a thin but hearty bone broth which Gaius spoon-fed him, massaging his throat to facilitate each swallow. It wasn't much, but with Merlin asleep night and day, it was sufficient.

There was one other routine to the day, or rather, to the evening. Each night, at the completion of his duties, Arthur would appear at Gaius' chamber door. He stayed for upwards of an hour and always reminded Gaius to tell Merlin nothing of his visits. More than once, Gaius attempted to talk to Arthur but was met with stony silence instead. The prince merely watched Merlin sleep. Then, after a time, he would rise and take his leave.

\--------------

Late afternoon sunlight was already turning Gaius' apothecary shelves to gold on the third day, when Gaius heard a dry voice croak his name.

"Merlin!" Gaius startled and his book fell from his lap to the floor. Merlin raised himself up on his elbows with effort and his face broke into a wide grin. 

"Nodding off on the job?" Merlin managed, but Gaius' arms were already around him. They embraced for a long moment, and when they broke apart, neither one's eyes were dry. Then Merlin looked around the room and the smile slid from his face as his memory returned. 

"Gaius, where's Arthur?"

\-------------

Gaius couldn't remember later how he'd sidestepped the question, but ultimately Merlin let it drop. In his eyes were a deep sadness that Gaius suspected had little to do with his ordeal. And he was weak. Gaius lost track of how often he reminded Merlin that healing would take time. He kept to himself just how unlikely that healing had been. He didn't push for an explanation and Merlin didn't offer one. After accepting Arthur's absence, Merlin let himself be distracted by the small pile of gifts that had appeared over the past few days. He was bemused and embarrassed as Gaius anticipated, blushing deeply when he came across the wildflowers. He insisted on getting out of his makeshift bed, although his legs gave out under him like a newborn colt's. Holding Gaius' arm and steadying himself on the furniture, Merlin managed to walk a lap around the room before his head began to swim. He wanted to sleep in his own bed, so after a few minutes' rest, Gaius helped him to his room. Merlin sprawled across the covers and resisted Gaius' efforts to tuck him in. 

"I'm fine, Gaius. Stop fussing. I just need to sleep a bit more." 

Gaius ruffled his hair affectionately and dragged a blanket over him. Merlin smiled up at him gratefully and then allowed his heavy lids to close.

\------------- 

Under the circumstances it was perhaps no wonder that Gaius forgot his promise to send messages to Arthur and Gwen. Instead he felt overcome by a profound weariness. It was relief, he knew, that allowed him to relax his vigilance and acknowledge his physical and emotional exhaustion. Merlin was alive. Merlin was awake. Merlin would be fine. Only a few short days ago, Gaius had been in a state approaching despair. Now he settled into his chair, a well-worn copy of Galen's _De morborum differentiis_ in his hands. He didn't remember falling asleep.  
  
A familiar rap at the door startled him awake. "Damnation!" Gaius muttered. "That'll be Arthur."

Sure enough, a golden head appeared at the door. Arthur entered, caught sight of the empty bed, and froze. "Gaius! Where's Merlin? He's... he's not--"  
  
"No, no, no, Sire! Forgive me. He awakened some hours ago. I meant to send word. It just slipped my mind in the moment. Merlin is resting in his own bed."  
  
For a moment the fear on Arthur's face turned to anger, but then both expressions gave way to relief. "He's alright, then?"

"He's weak," Gaius answered, "But he's well. He asked after you, my lord."  
  
Arthur's features clouded. "You didn't tell him anything, did you?"  
  
"No, Sire. But he's just in the other room. Surely you'd like to see him yourself?"

Arthur shook his head forcefully. 

Gaius sighed. "What would you have me tell him, Sire?"

"Tell him that I expect him back at work when he's recovered his strength. No sooner," said Arthur flatly.

"Are you sure you don't want--"

"--I'm sure, Gaius. Just send him to my chambers in the morning when he's well enough to resume his duties. Say nothing else. Don't tell him I was here." Arthur's tone was adamant. Gaius bowed. Arthur turned on his heel and was gone.

Gaius cursed softly to himself. Why was this so complicated? A blind man could see how deeply Arthur cared for Merlin. Was it really so hard to accept the truth? But then, Gaius had to admit to himself, it wasn't so simple after all. It wasn't just about magic; it was about trust. Gaius ached for both of them, but especially for Merlin. He turned his eyes towards the boy's chambers, and his heart dropped.  
  
Merlin stood in the entrance to his room, leaning heavily against the doorframe for support. His eyes brimmed with tears.

"He hates me, Gaius."

Gaius shook his head sadly. "He doesn't. He's just confused. Merlin--"

But whatever Gaius intended to say went unheard. Merlin disappeared. The door closed behind him, but could not silence the boy's muffled sobs. Gaius stood on the steps for some time before he gave up. There were some sorrows words could not comfort.

\-------------

Merlin normally took the stairs two at a time, but today his feet dragged. After nearly a week spent convalescing, Merlin was queasy with dread. After that first night of consciousness, Arthur hadn't returned to check on him, nor had he sent word or instruction other than to tell Gaius that Merlin should return to service when he was healed. Well, he was healed, in body at least. But no matter how he busied himself assisting Gaius or talking to Gwen, Merlin's thoughts churned with doubt. Arthur despised him, he was sure. Whatever they'd had before was gone, or Arthur would be there, as he'd been there before. Merlin's memories were clouded by illness, but he remembered Arthur's painstaking care, changing dressings, giving him medication to ease his pain. And certainly Gaius hadn't carried him from the dungeons up to his chambers. He recalled their conversations in the cool and dark of the cell, recalled how Arthur had given him words of courage even without knowing it. His village was safe, his _mother_ was safe, all because of Arthur. And now Arthur didn't want to see him.

But Arthur still wanted Merlin in his service. It was a small comfort, but a comfort nonetheless, as was the knowledge that today he would see Arthur again. He wouldn't try to think past that moment. Merlin clutched the oversized breakfast tray to his chest as he climbed, and tried not to let his hands shake. When he arrived at Arthur's chambers, Merlin balanced the tray in one hand, knocked, and pushed the door open in one movement. 

"Good morning, _Siiiiire_ ," Merlin began, and then his voice faltered and fell silent.

Arthur's chambers were a disaster. Merlin's eyes widened at the extent of the mess. Armor piled on the desk. Clothes strewn everywhere. Bedsheets rumpled and sliding onto the floor. Merlin stopped and counted in his head the number of days Arthur had been out of the dungeon cell, the short time it had taken to create this maelstrom of clutter and chaos. 

And there was no Arthur. At this hour, Merlin should have found Arthur sleeping in, resisting every call to wake up and begin the day. Instead, to judge by the open wardrobe and scattered sleeping clothes, Arthur had already risen, dressed, and gone. Merlin sighed. His disappointment was momentarily crushing. And then his eyes caught sight of the parchment on the desk.

Merlin picked it up and skimmed it rapidly, then brought his fist down on the desk in frustration. Arthur had left him a list of chores to complete in his absence. _Polish my armor, sharpen my swords, prepare my clothing for the knighting ceremony, tidy my room, scrub the floors, change the sheets, exercise my hounds, muck out my horses..._ The list was exhaustive. Merlin's heart sank. So Arthur didn't want to see him. He was, after all, only a servant. And now it seemed that's all Arthur wanted him to be. Merlin reread the list. Quickly he checked the door and locked himself in. He rolled up his sleeves. His eyes glowed gold.

Within minutes, the room was a whirlwind of activity. While Merlin drew a sharpening stone along the edge of Arthur's favorite sword, a suit of armor floated in midair, burnishing itself to a silver gleam. Crisp, new bedclothes straightened themselves and tucked themselves in around Arthur's extravagant four-poster. A scrub brush moved in tight circles, polishing the stone floor to perfection. The scent of lavender filled the air as Arthur's clean clothes smoothed and hung themselves in neat rows within the wardrobe.

How much time passed, Merlin couldn't have said, but he was too busy to notice the soft footfalls coming from the antechamber. With his eyes trained on the sword edge, he did not register the boots that stepped into the morning sunlight, nor see the brown breeches, red tunic, or golden crown of hair come into view. But when a familiar voice rang out, Merlin started so hard he nearly cut himself on the blade.

"When were you going to tell me?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gaius' reading should properly be attributed to the following:
> 
> Medieval Medicine, by James J. (James Joseph) Walsh  
> http://www.gutenberg.org/files/43300/43300-h/43300-h.htm
> 
> Galen's Hygiene, Vol I  
> https://www.loebclassics.com/view/LCL535/2018/pb_LCL535.lxxvii.xml


	10. Don't Run Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin must face the truth together, but will it tear them apart?

The room rained with falling objects. The scrub brush bounced and slid across the floor. Hauberk and gauntlets tumbled back onto the desk. A crisp white bedsheet drifted lazily onto the mattress. Merlin squinted hard against the morning sunlight to make out Arthur's form, bright against the antechamber's darkness.

"When were you going to tell me?" repeated Arthur, his arms crossed.

Merlin's heart was in his throat. "I ... " he tried, and faltered. "I never wanted to lie to you. Arthur, I--"

"How long?" Arthur demanded. "How long have you practiced magic right here in Camelot? How long have I harbored a sorcerer in my own service?"

"It's not like that. I'm not ... Arthur, I was _born_ with magic!" Merlin appealed to Arthur with his eyes. Arthur's expression was stony, unmoved.

Merlin dropped the sword and sharpening stone. Slowly he knelt before Arthur, head bowed. Then in a low voice, "I have magic. I've always had magic. And I use it for you, Arthur." His eyes flicked up. "Only for you." He lowered his eyes and waited, heart hammering in his chest, and then whispered, "Are you going to burn me?"

Arthur dropped his hands by his sides. The sight of Merlin--his loyalty, his resignation--overcame Arthur's anger. "Get up," he grumbled. "Of course I'm not going to ... Merlin, I wouldn't ever harm you. You should know that by now. Gods damn it, get up!"

Scrambling to his feet, Merlin flinched when Arthur drew his hunting knife. Arthur caught his eyes and softly shook his head, then cut the strings of his coin purse and tossed it to Merlin.

"But you can't stay here. Take this. Leave Camelot and never come back."

Merlin stared at the pouch in his hands as his eyes filled with tears. He let the purse slide from his fingers to the floor. He met Arthur's eyes, silently pleading. 

"Go."

Merlin tore himself away and stumbled blindly towards the chamber door, throwing back the bolt. Then he caught himself. He stood for several moments, hands gripping the doorframe with white knuckles. He shut the door. With his back still to Arthur, he intoned, "No."

Arthur gaped at him. "Merlin, you _idiot_ , what are you thinking? You can't stay here. You'll be caught. My father will kill you. I won't be able to stop him!"

Merlin turned and leaned heavily against the door. Quietly. "No."

Arthur ran his hands through his hair in exasperation. 

Merlin looked at him with an expression almost like pity. "Arthur, I've been in danger every day since I arrived in Camelot. You told me not to run away. Well, I'm not. I'm not running away from your father, and I'm not running away from my magic, and I'm not running away from _you_. I'm meant to be at your side, so that's where I'm staying." 

He hesitated. Then softly Merlin added, "What are you running away from?"

Now it was Arthur's turn to look away. "Merlin," his voice caught and he cleared his throat. "I watched you die. And I couldn't do anything. I won't--I _can't_ go through that again." His eyes remained trained on the ground.

Merlin closed the distance between them with a few steps. "Arthur. Arthur look at me."

Slowly, Arthur brought his head up to meet Merlin's gaze. 

"My magic, everything I have to give, it's all for you. One day you'll be the greatest king this land has ever known. You'll unite kingdoms. You'll bring peace. You'll end this reign of terror and put things to right, for _all_ Camelot's people. That's _your_ destiny. And mine is to be there by your side. Don't ask me to run from that. Don't ask me to leave you." Merlin took a step closer. "Arthur ... I know what you did. I remember."

Arthur started. "What ..."

"You saved my life. No one else could have done it but you."

"Merlin, I don't know what you're talking about--"

Merlin gave an exasperated sigh. "You hopeless royal prat. _I love you, too_.I've always loved you."

Arthur looked at Merlin as if seeing him for the first time. He reached a tentative hand to Merlin's face, slowly tracing the cheekbone and jaw. Merlin closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Then in one motion, Arthur drew Merlin close and kissed him.

They lingered there in the morning light, eyes closed, lips pressed gently together, and then Merlin pulled himself away. His blue eyes shone.

"I love you," Arthur breathed. "I didn't know how much until I almost lost you. Gods, Merlin, don't ever do that to me again."

Merlin shook his head fervently. "Never," he promised, and surged forward to return Arthur's kiss. This time they met in one breathless crush.


	11. The Longest Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The world doesn't stop turning just because two fools find love.

The two young men stood in the center of Arthur's cluttered chambers, oblivious to the world. Sunlight streamed in through an open window, catching on soapy suds and stone floor where a scrub brush lay abandoned. It flashed with painful brightness on Arthur's breastplate and maille, both strewn across the desk. It haloed Arthur's hair, turning it to gold between Merlin's fingers. Still they embraced.

After an age, Arthur withdrew from the kiss, raising his head to search Merlin's face. Bright blue eyes beamed back at him. Merlin's smile was everywhere, in his eyes, in his lips, in the tightness of his cheeks. He caught Arthur's gaze and shook his head in giddy disbelief. Arthur cupped his hand behind Merlin's head and tilted his face gently. His eyes fell on a thin line that stretched from Merlin's back across his slender throat. He stroked it cautiously with his thumb. Merlin's smile faltered then and his eyes dipped. Instead of releasing him, Arthur pressed his thumb upwards into Merlin's jawline, lifting his head and turning it slightly to expose the length of the mark. It would be a scar, Arthur could see, pale and thin but indelible. Arthur leaned in again. He slipped one hand against Merlin's lower back to draw him close. Arthur's lips settled on the marred skin. Merlin shivered under his touch. His eyelashes fluttered closed as he surrendered to Arthur's kisses, each tiny touch deliberately tracing the length of the scar. 

"For me," Arthur murmured. Arthur felt a tiny nod against his shoulder as Merlin rested his cheek there. Arthur's arms pulled the young man into a tighter embrace. Tears stung the corners of his eyes. The two men swayed slightly in the sunlight, as illuminated dust motes filtered down around them. 

"Always for you. Only you, Arthur," Merlin whispered. The brush of his lips against Arthur's neck simultaneously made Arthur weak and ignited a fire in his belly. Arthur moved a hand gently up to skim the length of Merlin's back, coming to rest in the base of his dark curls. His fingers tightened involuntarily and Merlin let out a soft cry before nuzzling deeper into Arthur's body. Arthur stroked Merlin's hair with a firm, comforting hand. He wondered vaguely whether Merlin remembered his touch from the haze of his injuries. Each moment of intimacy in the cells felt like a lifetime ago, now that he held Merlin in his arms in his own chambers, in the open air and the morning light.

Merlin's breath was warm against Arthur's throat. Merlin slid one hand between their bodies and rested it against Arthur's chest. Arthur could almost hear his heart beat in the stillness. He let his eyes close, let his head fall against Merlin's, feeling his slight stubble grazing the smooth, high cheekbones. Merlin sighed deeply. The sensation spread through Arthur's body like a wave of relief. Merlin was here. Merlin was safe. Merlin was his.

There was no telling how long they might have stayed, clasped together, the center of their own world, had not the sound of clashing metal risen through the window to shatter the stillness. Arthur's eyes flew open. The two men sprang apart. 

"Training," Arthur stammered, still reaching for Merlin. "My father will kill me."

But Merlin was already darting around the chamber, gathering scattered pieces of armor to his chest. He dumped the lot on the desk and pulled Arthur's faded red gambeson over his head. "I don't want to go," Arthur said in a muffled voice from halfway inside the padded shirt.

"You have to go," Merlin answered him, dressing Arthur in his maille and surcoat. "Even if he doesn't kill you, somehow I'll end up in the stocks, and I am not having that kind of day today."

Arthur's eyes followed Merlin as the young man moved quickly, settling his breastplate and hauberk in place. With deft fingers, Merlin tightened each piece to perfection. Arthur snatched at Merlin's arm, wrapping strong fingers around the slender wrist. "I want to see you. Tonight. Come to my chambers."

Merlin twisted his arm free and smiled in spite of himself. "You prat," he said, and wrapped Arthur's swordbelt around his waist. "I'll still be here with everything you left me to do!" Arthur grunted as Merlin tightened the buckle a little vindictively.

"Then stay." Merlin fumbled as he reached past Arthur for his training sword and Arthur took the opportunity to grab his hand again. He held Merlin's gaze. "Tell Gaius I require your services this evening." Merlin ducked his head as his cheeks warmed, not unpleasantly. He extricated his fingers and handed Arthur his helmet as Arthur continued. "I'll want a bath. Make sure it's hot this time. And Merlin?"

"Yes, Arthur?"

"For god's sake, remember to lock the door!"

Arthur turned to go. Merlin felt his heart rise in his chest and he followed with his eyes. Arthur paused with his hand on the door.

He turned back and swept Merlin into his arms once more, claiming his mouth hungrily, every kiss a promise.

Then he was gone. Merlin stood alone in the sunlit room. The ache in his heart could not compete with the joy that bubbled up inside of him. _Tonight_.

\-------------

Arthur ducked as the blade whirled over his head. Training was a mixed blessing. On the one hand, it kept him from overthinking the morning's events. On the other hand, his head was still ringing from a mace blow he'd failed to block. It wasn't entirely his own fault, he justified, as he'd been distracted by the sight of Gwen and Merlin lugging washing baskets across the far courtyard. Merlin's head had been thrown back in laughter and the outline of his neck where it rose above his kerchief had made it unexpectedly hard to breathe. The next moment he'd found himself laid out on the grass. Leon's apologies reached his ears as if underwater. As he accepted Leon's strong arm to stand, he couldn't be certain if he heard familiar laughter drifting across the grounds. The rest of the session passed without major incident, if one excluded the occasional stumble, slow reaction, or dropped shield. Still, several of the knights would remember that day as their most successful encounter with the fell warrior Arthur Pendragon. Only Sir Leon seemed to ascribe his fortune to something other than his own personal skill. More than once, Arthur caught Leon looking sidelong at him, brows slightly furrowed as if on the edge of asking a question. Discretion being the better part of valor, Arthur thought it wise to dismiss his knights a little early, before he did anything truly ridiculous. Not everyone would be as discreet as Leon.

\-------------

"You're smiling, Merlin! I mean, you're properly smiling!"

Leave it to Gwen to catch him out like that. It was true, of course. He hadn't been himself of late. Anyone who noticed probably put it down to his recovery. Only Gaius knew, or guessed, the real reason. Not that he intended to share the depth of his feelings for Arthur with Gaius. Surely Gaius would be supportive, but it was too secret, too tender, and far too new for Merlin to share with anyone. Well, that wasn't quite true. He would have told Will...

His thoughts snapped back to the present as Gwen threw her arms around him. Merlin tensed reflexively and she sprang back, fingertips at her lips, eyes wide. 

"I'm so sorry, Merlin! I wasn't thinking!"

"It's really alright, Gwen," he reassured her. "It's better. Much better. Stop fussing." And it was. There was hardly any pain left in the marks on his back, although Gaius had insisted on keeping Merlin's torso bandaged. It added to the illusion that there was nothing unnatural about his healing process, and Gaius continued to apply a remedy of his own to lighten the appearance of Merlin's scars.

Merlin insisted on carrying Gwen's washing down the stairs along with his own, and then the two of them walked shoulder to shoulder to the laundry. It was good to pass the time like this, Merlin thought. He laughed so often and easily with Gwen. Between the two of them, Merlin was easily the worse gossip, but Gwen had nearly two weeks of palace talk on him. Most of it was "downstairs" chatter; Gwen would no more have told Morgana's secrets than Merlin would Arthur's. Of course, that kind of loyalty wasn't universal, so Merlin found himself agreeably engaged for the better part of two hours, just catching up. When they took the wet washing across the courtyard to hang, his eyes were drawn to flash of sunlight on whirling blades. In the center of the training field, a blur of gold and red, Arthur moved with the grace of a dancer and the ferocity of a wild creature. Merlin fought to keep his eyes trained ahead of him, but he stumbled a little in spite of himself. As he recovered his footing he laughed aloud for the joy and absurdity of it all.

Gwen beamed at him and patted his arm fondly. "There. I said you'd work it out. You two need each other too much to stay cross."

And at that, Merlin nearly dropped his washing.

\-------------

After training, Arthur couldn't stop himself from racing up to his chambers. He was disappointed, if not surprised, to find them empty. He cursed himself for whichever chore he'd left Merlin that kept him away at midday. He stripped off his armor and surcoat. His helmet rolled off the table as he turned to remove his gauntlets, and he dove to catch it. As he secured the helmet under one arm, something on the ground caught his eye. It was his own coin purse, lying where Merlin had dropped it that morning. Arthur closed a gloved hand around the pouch and stood in the empty room. The events of this morning seemed distant, immediate, inevitable, and impossible at once. As he examined the shorn leather purse strings, Merlin's tearful face rose in his memory. Could he really have sent Merlin away? Never awake to that wide grin again? Never hear his title in that insolent drawl? Never know what it felt like to hold Merlin in his arms? And yet, it could have been so. The thought chilled him. But then, Merlin hadn't run. And now Arthur wouldn't either. 

Ruefully, he dressed himself for the official duties of what was fast becoming an interminable day.

\-------------

Midday found Merlin pacing at the servants' entrance to the kitchens, holding the remains of Arthur's breakfast tray. Merlin himself had done most of the eating, though he'd saved some pastries for Gaius. Where was Margaret, the scullery maid? He continued to pace impatiently. At this rate, he would have to bring the tray into the kitchen, but he wasn't quite that desperate yet. Honey cakes notwithstanding, Merlin lived in mortal fear of Cook and her heavy wooden spoon. He'd had his knuckles rapped before for trespassing. And his first week, he vividly remembered, Margaret invited him to sit down for a few minutes and share some bread. Cook had appeared out of nowhere and thwacked him solidly upside the head with a ladle, all the while upbraiding Margaret for dallying with "menfolk". Margaret had only exchanged a few words with him in the months since, but he always greeted her warmly, albeit from just beyond the kitchen threshold. Oh thank the gods, here she was! Margaret reached for the tray and stammered a greeting, her cheeks flushed bright pink. Merlin turned to go and then froze. Rising from the steam of the kitchens behind Margaret was an unmistakable form: Cook. His widening eyes must have warned Margaret, who disappeared with something like a squeak, leaving Merlin to face that formidable woman alone. He risked a glance and, yes, there was the spoon in her hand. Suddenly two great arms wrapped around his neck and he found his face pressed into a bountiful and floury bosom. He hardly had time to react before Cook placed her hands on either side of his head and held him at arms length. "Don't you ever do that again, young man. We were all worried about you. And Gaius! Don't you put him through something like that again!" Merlin watched the spoon out of the corner of his eye, but Cook merely used it to shoo him away. Merlin blushed and fled. Behind him, he could have sworn he heard Margaret's nervous giggle, but he didn't look back.

\-------------

Arthur joined his father's council for the first time since his imprisonment. He sat to his father's right, Morgana to Uther's left. Arthur was grateful for her presence. When Morgana attended council meetings, at least there was an opportunity to exchange knowing glances and the occasional smirk. It lightened the tedium and sped the time. 

At first, things had gone well enough. Oh, the meeting was as dull as ever. Geoffrey of Monmouth droned on with a list of prominent citizens who were under consideration for titles and land grants. Another grey-bearded advisor accounted for every sheaf of wheat and sack of grain in Camelot's harvest stores. Slightly more interesting to Arthur were the treaties and potential threats presented by neighboring kingdoms. All might have gone to plan, had not their midday repast arrived in the arms of a serving girl and--oh gods, _Merlin_? Arthur pursed his lips and concentrated harder on the map in front of him, but his peripheral vision betrayed him. Merlin, pressed into service in the middle of his own chores, had rolled his sleeves up past his forearms and removed his neckerchief to relieve some of the heat. Against his will, Arthur's eyes were drawn to Merlin's strong arms and slender wrists. He found his throat suddenly parched as Merlin leaned forward with the tray, his tunic gaping and revealing the patch of dark hairs on his pale chest. Arthur reached for his wine goblet but found it dry. He prayed his attempt had gone unnoticed, but Merlin, for once, had moved with surprising speed and grace to refill his cup. As Merlin reached across him, Arthur caught his scent--warm, intimate, smelling both of sweat and laundry soap. Arthur's concentration fell to pieces as he found his breath quickening and his trousers fast becoming uncomfortably tight.

"Arthur? Arthur. _Arthur_." Someone was talking. Someone was talking to _him_. He felt a sharp kick from a slender, pointed shoe under the table and looked up to see Morgana staring at him and angling her head towards the king. Arthur startled back to attention, with no memory of the question just put to him. "Er..." he began uncertainly. 

"I _said,"_ Uther repeated, irritation in his voice, "Should we bring forward the knighting ceremony to provide more contestants for the harvest festival tourney?" Determined to cover for his lapse of attention, Arthur sat up and prepared to answer in his most princely tone. It might have worked, too, had he not made the mistake of gesturing with his right hand, knocking over the just-refilled goblet. Wine poured into the table, narrowly missing some important papers, and instead spilled onto Arthur's tunic and then into his lap. Morgana giggled into her hand as Merlin sprang into action. He pulled out his neckerchief to sop up the spilled liquid on the table and then, to Arthur's mortification, reached to do the same for his sodden trousers. "That's enough, Merlin!" Arthur snapped and waved him away. Merlin obeyed quickly enough, thank gods, backing away with a bow. Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur caught Uther's full eye roll along with a muttered disparagement regarding incompetent staff. 

The rest of the meeting was nearly tolerable, although Arthur remained aware of his uncomfortably wet clothes throughout. At its conclusion, Arthur bid his father and the council good-day and made his way expediently to the door, only to find himself followed by Morgana. She caught his arm and dragged him into an alcove. Altogether nonplussed, Arthur followed and adjusted his jacket to hide the remaining wine stains on his tunic and trousers. Morgana opened her mouth to speak and then, to Arthur's annoyance, doubled over with a fit of silent laughter. He waited, irritated, for her to regain the composure to speak. 

"You..." Morgana held up a finger and bit her lip, stifling another round of giggles, "You _can't_ , Arthur! You have to know that. And _Merlin_ , of all people--" 

Arthur was immediately on high alert at the mention of Merlin's name. He pulled his most serious expression and asked, "What are you on about, Morgana? What--there's nothing--Merlin is an idiot. He just--"

Morgana's eyes shone. "Oh Arthur, I didn't mean--"

"What _did_ you mean? Morgana, I really don't have time for this."

"Oh, Arthur," she said, almost reproachfully. "I'm happy for you. I really am. You've been nothing but a storm cloud around the palace these past few days, but if Uther were to find out--well, he'd have Merlin's head for a start! You have to be more _subtle_ , for heaven's sakes."

Arthur readied a denial, but Morgana dropped her voice to a whisper. "I mean, you don't see Gwen and I frisking about in council meetings like a couple of lovestruck fools..."

Whatever she said next was lost on Arthur. He opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, then tried again. Nothing.

Morgana threw her arms around him, her chestnut curls bouncing, and pulled him into a rare and gleeful hug. "Just ... be careful with him. Okay? He's been through a lot for your sake. You both deserve to be happy." She pulled back and caught Arthur's stunned expression. "Oh relax. I'm sure no one else has picked up on it. But another council meeting like that and even Geoffrey will start to think something's up. Now go change. You know, you really do need a manservant to look after you, Arthur!" She giggled again and was gone.

Arthur thought, on the whole, he might prefer to return to his cell in the dungeons. 

\-------------

Merlin was nearing the end of his chores, as the sun dipped low over the city and painted the Citadel a glowing coral. He picked up the pitchfork beside the the stable door and set to turning the straw, when he heard a tight, officious cough behind him. He sighed. There was really only one person he knew who could cough officiously.

George stood at the stable entrance, arms clasped behind his back. "Merlin."

"George." There was no discord between them, but Merlin found his patience tried every time George cornered him with helpful suggestions and observations. George was the paragon of royal service. He had worked his way up the ranks, while Merlin had found himself burdened with the dubious honor of his position for saving Arthur's life. Merlin would never be the servant George was, mainly because it did not interest him to do so. George, on the other hand, took pleasure in every well-banked fire and flawlessly-pressed tunic. It could be a little trying, being friends with George, but Merlin made the effort precisely because so few palace servants did. 

For once, George looked wrong-footed as he searched for his next words. "Merlin, I just wanted to say--well, that is, we all do--what I mean to say is--"

Merlin leaned on the pitchfork and waited with growing discomfort.

George cleared his throat. "We're happy to see you back at your post. I, er, _we_ all were worried. And if there's anything I can do to help ..." He trailed off, suddenly red-faced.

Merlin was torn between embarrassment and gratitude. Before his ... experience, he'd never imagined himself to be significant to so many of his fellow palace staff. But no matter how he wished no one knew of his punishment, his illness, and his precarious recovery, it was gratifying to find himself the recipient of such affection. George wasn't offering out of formality, either. He stood in the stable doorway, leaning forward on the balls of his feet as if waiting for Merlin to make a request of him.

"Actually, George," he began with a smile, "There _is_ something that would mean the world to me."

\-------------

Arthur returned from his final duty of the day--a thorough assessment of Camelot's army--absolutely exhausted and almost unbearably nervous. The nearer he drew to his chambers, the louder his heart beat. He paused at his chamber threshold, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

The room was spotless. No, _more_ than spotless. Arthur had never seen it this way. A small fire burned in the hearth, which was free from any suggestion of ash. The floor gleamed. The tapestries and bed hangings were bold with color, the dust beaten away. The armor he'd abandoned in the morning gleamed in the light of countless candles lit along each wall. His bath tub had been rolled out and filled and Arthur could smell fragrant oils in the air. His evening meal lay presented as if for a feast. There were even flowers by the bed! In fact, the only touch of grime in the room was invested in the person of his manservant, who stood behind Arthur's chair and pulled it out with an inviting gesture.

Arthur's lips curved into a smile. "Has George been in?"

Merlin rolled his eyes and sighed. "Just sit down and eat your supper. Prat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter owes its existence to Merlioske and Ronin, to whom I'm forever indebted. Merlin's accidental seduction scene is all Merlioske and the opening scene is all Ronin. I just work here. I have the best muse and the best brother ever.


	12. Towards

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The night finally arrives, bringing both revelations and new mysteries.

Merlin folded his hands behind his back and assumed the posture of a highly trained palace servant as Arthur took his seat in front of the lavish meal. Only the twinkle in his eyes gave the game away. And it was a game. Neither one of them knew quite how to behave, so Merlin defaulted to this teasing performance of servitude and Arthur's smirk was every inch the entitled prince.

Arthur sat with a flourish of his napkin and began to fill his plate, but froze with his first bite only halfway to his lips. "Merlin."

"Sire?"

"Are you going to stand there all night?"

"Sire," Merlin affirmed in his best impression of George.

"Oh for ... would you just sit down and eat something? You're hovering. Somehow it's more off-putting than your usual shoddy manners. And anyway, you still look like a stiff breeze might knock you over. Sit. Eat."

Merlin grinned and swiveled a chair around next to Arthur's, tucking in with gusto. They ate in silence, both grateful to be excused from conversation. Merlin popped cheese and berries into his mouth with his fingers while Arthur wielded fork and knife with total absorption. When their eyes met, they exchanged quick half-smiles and looked back to their food. At length they'd each eaten as much as their nerves would allow and there was no pretext to avoid speaking any longer.

Arthur leaned back and stretched extravagantly. "Well, Merlin, you've skived off work for long enough. I'd like that bath now, if it's not too much to ask of one's manservant."

Merlin jumped to his feet and gestured expectantly to Arthur to rise and be undressed. Merlin found his mouth suddenly dry and wished he hadn't gulped down the last of his wine. Arthur rose with more dignity and joined Merlin in front of the bathtub. They stood facing each other for a long moment, the evening routine in conflict with their newfound awkwardness. 

"Well come on then, Merlin," Arthur drawled, pretending a relaxed tone. Instead he felt a sudden and unaccustomed self-consciousness. The air between them seemed to spark and Arthur was aware of the exact distance between their bodies. He gave a tiny shake of his head and extended both arms to the side expectantly. 

Merlin swallowed. He felt rooted to the spot. He urged his hands to take hold of Arthur's jacket sleeves and slip them from his broad shoulders, but his muscles wouldn't obey. Time dragged as he tried to snap out of his discomfort. Arthur, damn him, stood with his usual self-confidence, making no effort to put Merlin at ease. Merlin swallowed hard and took a deep breath. If Arthur was determined to act as if nothing had changed, Merlin would follow suit. He willed his hands to move, and found himself divesting Arthur of his garments almost as it were the end of a normal day.

Arthur's years of training served him well as he submitted to Merlin's attentions. He willed his heart and breath to slow as Merlin's long fingers moved deftly over his body. Merlin stepped behind him and slid the leather jerkin from his shoulders. He circled around and loosened the laces of Arthur's tunic, and Arthur leaned forward to allow Merlin to lift it off over his head. As the fabric slid away from his eyes, he suddenly found himself looking into Merlin's. Both young men froze. Arthur's breathing quickened. Merlin's chest rose visibly. "I'll take it from here," Arthur stammered. Merlin turned away from him, folding and then refolding the tunic and jerkin unnecessarily. Arthur took advantage of the moment, rapidly unlaced his breeches, stripped and stepped into the bathtub.

Arthur grunted and Merlin turned back to face him with a quizzical look. 

"Water's gone cold." 

Merlin fidgeted. Without making eye contact, he murmured, "I can fix that. I mean, if you want me to."

"Merlin, that won't be necessary. George can bring more--"

"No, I mean, I can ... I can ..." Merlin found himself unable to say the words. He waited for Arthur to understand.

After an agonizingly long moment, Arthur understood. He nodded slowly. 

"Are you sure?" Merlin asked, looking up, startled despite his offer.

"I want you to do it. I want to see you." Arthur was surprised to realize how much he meant the words. 

Merlin lifted a hand towards him and called to his magic.

"Wait!"

He froze, heart hammering in his ears.

"Merlin, you're not going to boil me alive, are you? Should I get out first?" Arthur looked genuinely worried.

Caught off-guard, Merlin threw his head back and laughed, tears springing to his eyes as his nervousness bubbled over. Arthur frowned at him. "This is not comforting, Merlin."

Merlin wiped the tears away and centered himself. He lifted his hand again and allowed the magic to rise within him. _Onhǽte þá wæter_ , he whispered, carefully controlling the spell as his eyes flashed gold. Soft clouds rose around Arthur, forming caressing spirals of fragrant steam. 

Arthur gaped openly at the golden light in Merlin's eyes, the strength in his soft voice. Suddenly the memory of Merlin's healing returned to him, the intimacy and the power, the way Arthur had given himself over to the magic. This was Merlin, he realized. His idiot manservant, impossibly clumsy, perpetually scatterbrained. How much of that had been an act? How often had he played the fool to hide the truth? Arthur shook his head, amazed. Amazed, he realized, and more than a little ... excited?

Merlin smiled at him sheepishly, and shrugged. 

"Merlin?"

"Sire?"

"Get in. Now." Arthur lunged forward, crossing his arms on the edge of the tub, and pinned Merlin with a stare.

Merlin's hands dropped to his sides. His head swam for a moment. As the situation struck him in all its absurdity, he momentarily struggled with the urge to flee. He had just performed magic, _magic_ , in front of Arthur--no, at Arthur's behest! And instead of rage, Arthur was gazing at him with something akin to hunger. Suddenly Merlin felt his limbs were too long, his breath hopelessly out of control. "You want me to ..."

Arthur smiled at his discomfiture. "Yes, Merlin. Surely even you can follow such a simple direction." He wrinkled his nose. "And to be quite honest, you need a bath." 

Merlin's hands went to his clothing and then he stopped. Arthur followed Merlin's every move with his most princely air of entitlement.

"Are you just going to watch me?" 

Arthur grinned, resting his head on his crossed arms where they perched on the tub's edge.

Merlin groaned. With sudden determination he gripped the sides of his tunic and prepared to slip it over his head. 

"No," Arthur interrupted. "Slowly."

Merlin stared at him, incredulous. Infuriating, unperturbed, Arthur stared back at him. 

Merlin sighed. It seemed Arthur was determined to humiliate him. Which, if he was honest with himself, was the mildest consequence he could ever have imagined at this impossible juncture. He exhaled unsteadily and closed his eyes, reaching once again for the sides of his tunic. This time he lifted the fabric slowly, exposing his pale belly with its trail of dark hair, keenly aware of his skinny chest and the ribs that protruded as his tunic ruffled his hair. 

For a moment, Merlin held the shirt in front of his body. Arthur slowly shook his head. Merlin rolled his eyes and let the tunic drop to the floor. He knelt and unbuckled his boots, one after the other, and kicked them off, peeling away his socks next. Merlin stood and with shaking hands slowly reached for the laces of his trousers. Silently, Merlin thanked the gods that his nerves had gotten the better of his desire. Dipping his thumbs into the sides of his breeches, he loosened them and stood for a moment, unable to bring himself to proceed. Arthur's gaze did not waver. "Prat," grumbled Merlin. "You're completely insufferable, you know that, right?" 

Arthur smiled placidly. "And yet here you are."

At that, something cheeky awoke in Merlin. "Yes, I suppose I am." He caught Arthur's eyes and in one fluid motion he slid breeches and smallclothes from his hips and stepped out of them. Without breaking eye contact, Merlin stepped towards the tub and stopped mere feet away from Arthur. He shifted his weight onto one leg and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, affecting a nonchalance he didn't feel, stark naked but for the simple red cloth still tied around his neck.

His reward was the stunned look on Arthur's face. Feeling suddenly powerful, Merlin reached for his neckerchief. Arthur swallowed visibly. Merlin undid the knot at his throat and slowly drew the cloth away. He extended his hand towards Arthur, turned it over, and let the red neckerchief fall to the floor.

Wordlessly, Arthur moved to the far side of the tub, making room for Merlin to join him. Merlin walked the remaining few feet and stepped into the water. Arthur looked up, cheeks burning, to take in Merlin's form from head to foot. _Gods_ , Arthur thought, _he's ... beautiful. Just beautiful._

And shaken with the realization, Arthur hooked his foot behind Merlin's ankle and brought him crashing into the water with an undignified shriek.

The next few moments were pure chaos. Arthur had every advantage that training and muscle could confer, but shock and rage moved Merlin's long limbs with surprising efficiency. When the splashing subsided, both young men were gasping for air, water streaming from their hair onto their faces. The evening's tension dissipated in raucous laughter punctuated by profanity on both sides. It took several minutes, but eventually the splashing stopped. As the sloshing water slowed, Merlin and Arthur faced each other in the too-small tub, suddenly aware of the strangeness of their situation. Their chests still heaved with quick, panting breaths. Their eyes met.

They lunged into each other's arms. Desperation fueled their kisses as their hands grasped at one another. Arthur reached for Merlin's slender waist and drew him in. Merlin wrapped his long legs around Arthur's body. _Dear gods_ , Arthur thought, _I'm actually holding him. My manservant, my best friend, my_ ... Merlin, _here in my arms._ Arthur stroked up Merlin's sides and down his flanks, taken apart by desire and wonder.

Merlin cupped Arthur's face in his hands, threading his fingers into the golden hair. Arthur licked at Merlin's mouth, urging his lips to open, and plunged his tongue inside. Merlin tasted warm and dark, like sips of mulled wine. Merlin kissed back with more passion than skill, but when he nipped at Arthur's lower lip, Arthur couldn't contain his moan. Their bodies, pressed against each other, betrayed their arousal. 

Mastering himself for a moment, Arthur moved his hands to Merlin's shoulders and pushed him slowly back. Merlin's eyes were wild, his hair mussed, and he appealed wordlessly to Arthur for an explanation. 

"Too fast." Arthur stroked his hair. "I want you. Gods, I want you. But I ... I just ... I need to see you." Arthur's voice faltered. "You were gone for so long. Too long." Arthur reached a hand to Merlin's face and traced his cheekbones with a tentative hand. Merlin leaned in, pressing a kiss to his palm. Arthur touched their foreheads together. Gradually their breathing slowed. Arthur wrapped his arms around Merlin's shoulders and kissed his dark locks. Then he tightened his grip on Merlin's hair almost painfully. "You scared me," Arthur whispered. "I thought I'd lost you. I'd lost you just when I realized ... and I never got a chance to say..." He trailed off.

Merlin nodded gently, forehead still pressed against Arthur's. "I never believed I could have this. I keep expecting to wake up from another fever dream. But I remember. When we were in the dungeons, Arthur, there were times I almost imagined you might ... And then when I thought I was lost in the darkness, you reached in after me--" Merlin's voice broke and he fell silent.

Arthur drew him into a tight embrace, thrilling at the solidity of Merlin's body in his arms, the certainty of calloused hands on wet skin, the tremble of skinny shoulders beneath his touch. "No more of that. You're mine now. And I'm not letting you go anywhere I can't follow, not ever again."

He felt Merlin's smile grow where his head rested against Arthur's shoulder. Arthur let his hands roam across Merlin's naked form. Merlin responded by tightening his grip on Arthur's waist. And as Arthur explored him, Merlin's body began to respond and _oh gods_ , Arthur realized he wanted, no, _needed_ to have him. Their mouths found each other again and they kissed with mounting ferocity. 

This time it was Merlin who pulled back, chest still heaving. "Arthur. Please. I want--"

"Me too," Arthur groaned, "Gods, yes. But first, uh, we should probably get clean ..."

Merlin grunted assent. His eyes, sparkling wickedly, never left Arthur's. "Fine. But you can get the soap. I'm comfortable."

"And I'm the prince." Arthur rubbed his knuckles roughly across the top of Merlin's head and he fought and squawked indignantly. Cursing under his breath, Merlin stood and climbed out of the tub to get the soap.

\-------------

Arthur mused that, another time, it might be quite pleasurable to slowly scrub every inch of Merlin's naked body, but at the moment it was almost a race between the two young men. Merlin snatched the washcloth from Arthur's grip and seconds later, leapt from the tub, sloshing a considerable amount of water on the floor. Arthur momentarily forgot himself and just watched Merlin towel off. Water droplets hung to the dark hairs on his legs as he bent to dry them, apparently unconscious of his audience.

Merlin extended a fresh towel to Arthur. Arthur stood up and stepped out of the tub. For a moment, they were just Merlin and Arthur, no different than any other time they'd enacted this ritual. But on none of those occasions had Merlin been naked in front of Arthur, toweling away the water from his head to his chest until, at length, Merlin knelt at Arthur's feet to dry his legs. 

On his knees, Merlin felt the cool of the night air gave way to a sensation of warmth on his neck, his back. He sensed Arthur's eyes rove over his naked body and it ignited something inside of him. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his eyes to look up at Arthur through long dark lashes. He dropped the towel at Arthur's feet.

Arthur's breath caught. Merlin looked into his eyes and then, gaze unwavering, brought his hands to Arthur's hips. Arthur could only watch silently as Merlin leaned in and kissed a line along Arthur's left thigh, and then his right. "Merlin ... you don't have to ... what are you ... ?"

Merlin smiled gently up at him. "Can I? I want to."

Arthur nodded slowly, and wet heat enveloped him as Merlin's lips wrapped around the head of his cock. It was excruciating and exquisite and Arthur rocked backwards to lean against the bedpost, gripping it for support. He didn't realize his eyes had closed, but when they opened, Merlin was watching him, full lips beginning to suck and pull as he brought a hand up to stroke Arthur's length. He had already been half-hard, and now his cock swelled under attention of Merlin's tongue and slender fingers.

"Oh gods, Merlin, yes ... yes .... " Arthur moaned and braced his other hand against Merlin's shoulder. Merlin's cheeks hollowed as he began to suck harder, closing his eyes as he gave himself over to his task. Arthur's thighs trembled with the effort to remain standing. He stroked Merlin's still-wet hair and fought the urge to grip and thrust. 

Merlin was lost in a world that was Arthur and only Arthur, mounting desire guiding the movement of his lips and hands. Arthur grew harder and harder and Merlin drew him deeper in, swallowing to keep from gagging. He dragged his tongue along the underside of Arthur's cock and felt it twitch. Merlin grabbed at the back of Arthur's thighs and took his entire length, bobbing his head and encouraging Arthur to slide freely in the slick heat of Merlin's mouth. Arthur's fingernails dug into his shoulder as a shudder passed through him.

"W-wait ... Merlin--"

Merlin opened his eyes and looked up at Arthur's strained expression without releasing his cock. He hummed a sound of inquiry and Arthur twitched and groaned.

"Gods, you're so good. If you don't stop I'm going to come."

Merlin slid off his length and released Arthur with a wet pop. Tilting his head, he teased, "Well, that was sort of the idea, sire." But he waited.

Arthur closed his eyes in assent, and then he was surrounded once again by the hot glide of Merlin's mouth. The barest suggestion of teeth grazed the sensitive head and sent a shiver of pleasure down Arthur's spine. Then Merlin's hand cupped his balls and as he tugged gently, Arthur cried out. Still cradling him, Merlin pressed a knuckle just behind the sensitive skin, and Arthur convulsed as he came. Plush lips that never left his cock as he spent deep inside continued to suck and lick until every last shudder of release left him, and Arthur sagged against the bedpost for support.

Arthur didn't know how much time passed before he reached a shaking hand down to touch Merlin's cheek. He leaned heavily against the post and struggled to catch his breath. At last Arthur opened his eyes and smiled down at Merlin. Merlin's lips were red and shone wetly in the candlelight. On his knees, loving eyes half-raised to meet his, Arthur thought he looked like a debauched angel. Merlin smiled up at him. "Dear gods," Arthur panted, "You're a menace. Bed. Now."

"Never a 'please' with you, is it?" But Merlin's eyes sparkled with joy. He stood quickly and leaned in to kiss Arthur. Arthur opened his mouth and tasted himself on Merlin's tongue. Before he could lean into the kiss, Merlin nipped once at his lower lip and walked past him to the side of Arthur's opulent bed. "Feels a bit odd," Merlin admitted, running his hands over the covers he straightened and the pillows he plumped every day. 

"Oh, just shut it and get in," Arthur snapped playfully, as he strove to regain control over his weakened limbs.

Merlin looked back over his shoulder and grinned. Then he leapt up and clambered to the center of the four-poster. He laid on his back, arms folded behind his head, and smiled in a proprietary way as he gestured for Arthur to join him. 

For a moment Arthur just took in the sight: Merlin's long, slender, pale body stretched out in the center of rich red coverlets and furs. Somehow the image was not incongruous. Merlin had never shown respect for rank or power and now he looked obnoxiously at ease surrounded by luxury. For a moment, Arthur could almost imagine an ornate silver circlet over Merlin's dark brows. Arthur licked his lips unconsciously and climbed up after him. Merlin smiled, but did not move aside for him. 

Arthur stretched himself out along Merlin's side, not quite touching him. "You seem right at home," he said, trying for a disapproving tone.

Merlin was unperturbed. "Do you have any idea how many times I've made this bed, fluffed your royal pillows, arranged your princely throws, and tucked you in at night, only to go back to my cold cot at Gaius' and..."

Arthur's eyebrows raised. "And?"

"And nothing, you prat," Merlin snapped. Then, gentler, "... And miss you, and wish I were still in your chambers, in your bed, in your arms." His eyes looked sad for a moment. Then he laughed, "So if you think I'm going to budge now that I'm finally here, you're in for a royal surprise, your highness."

Arthur laughed. Merlin's cheek gave him some relief from the sensation that his insides had been replaced by a cloud of butterflies. He wanted to slap himself for being so nervous. This was Merlin, after all. And Merlin wanted him. Still, he had to suppress a tremble in his hand as he reached to touch the smooth, bare skin of the boy beside him. He heard Merlin's breath catch and knew he wasn't alone in his trepidation. "Can I...?"

Merlin laughed softly. "I think I might die if you don't." He reached suddenly for Arthur's hand and brought it down to cover his heart. Arthur could feel the fast, powerful beating beneath his touch. He bent his head and kissed Merlin's lips, gently at first, and then insistently. Arthur interlaced his fingers with Merlin's and moved his hand away from his chest and up above his head. Merlin's breath quickened and he lifted his chin, exposing his long pale neck, as if he knew what Arthur wanted. Arthur found the spot where Merlin's pulse was visible just under his jawline and placed a featherlight kiss there. Merlin shivered. Arthur continued to explore Merlin's neck with kisses, now letting them deepen and linger. He reached the delicate arch of Merlin's collarbone and kissed a spot just above it. Merlin moaned and he closed his eyes. Encouraged, Arthur began to suck lightly there. Merlin's moans grew deeper. Arthur growled with pleasure and dipped his head to suck a dark bruise to the surface. He lifted his head and surveyed the mark with satisfaction. Merlin's scarf would cover it, but they would both know it was there for days to come. 

"You royals ... you just have to mark everything as yours ..."

"And are you?" Arthur asked, suddenly serious. Merlin's eyes opened to meet his.

"I told you. Everything I have and everything I am is for you, Arthur. It's all for you."

The words did something to him. Arthur wrapped his other hand around Merlin's wrist and rolled to cover his body. Merlin cried out as he felt himself taken in a powerful grip, and he ground his hips upward against Arthur's as Arthur began to kiss and mark his chest with bruise after bruise. "Mine," Arthur growled.

"Yours, only yours."

Arthur's lips brushed one of Merlin's nipples and Merlin gasped. Desperate to hear that sound again, Arthur licked the small, brown areola and took the tiny nub gently between his teeth. Merlin keened and writhed beneath him. They were both hard, now, and the friction between their bodies was almost too much. Arthur lifted his hips and put his weight on his knees to deny Merlin contact. He wasn't finished exploring the territory of Merlin's body, so recently undiscovered and forbidden.

Arthur sucked at one nipple and then the other until both hardened against his lips. He released Merlin's hands and stroked his slender sides, kissing down from the hollow of his throat, past the small dark patch of hair over his sternum, following the trail lower. He sat back on his knees, straddling Merlin's body, and looked him over. Merlin's head was thrown back, his still-wet hair a mess across his forehead. His long lashes fluttered and his mouth was open. At the sudden shift of Arthur's weight, Merlin opened his eyes and made an inquisitive sound. Now free to move, Merlin's hands reached for Arthur, stroking his thighs, slipping closer to where they met, where Arthur's cock hung low over his belly. 

Arthur shook his head. Merlin groaned in frustration. "I want you," Merlin panted, "I want all of you, I want everything about you, I want you right now."

"Mmm..." Arthur made a sympathetic sound. "And the last time I checked, you were in my bed and I was the crown prince of Camelot. So try very hard and see if you can remember that." 

Merlin huffed. "And what does the crown prince of bloody Camelot want, then?"

Here Arthur hesitated, suddenly embarrassed, searching for the words. "I want to, I mean, that is," he mastered himself, "I want to taste you. Like you did me. I've never ..." 

Merlin smiled broadly at that and pushed at Arthur's thighs, wriggling to escape. Arthur moved back and released him, and Merlin raised his knees and let them fall open. His long, slender cock lay nestled in a thatch of black hair. The head was swollen and dark pink and already leaked against his belly. 

Arthur knelt between Merlin's legs. For a moment, doubt nearly overwhelmed him, but the sight of Merlin's dripping cock spurred him on and in one motion he lowered himself and took the head between his lips.

Merlin gave a deep sigh of satisfaction and lifted his hips just a little to experience more of that warm perfection. He sat up halfway on his elbows, eyes wide at the sight of his prince, no, his _king_ between his legs. Arthur's approach was a little rough, but he was passionate and determined. It didn't matter to Merlin anyway. Technique was nothing to him. He could have come just taking in the impossible view of Arthur sucking his cock.

Merlin's taste was faint and reminded Arthur of the bittersweetness of mead. He gave over to instinct and lapped at the head before swallowing it again. When his lips closed around Merlin's cock again, Merlin's head dropped back and he sighed blissfully. Arthur tried to remember what felt good to him, what Merlin had done, and he took his cock deeper into his mouth, sucking until the velvety length became even harder. Merlin was vocal in his pleasure, Arthur soon discovered, and he let those sounds direct his movements. With one hand, he held Merlin's cock and slid his lips down the shaft until he awkwardly and abruptly gagged. He felt Merlin's fingers comb through his hair tenderly and Arthur swallowed hard. This time he stroked with his hand while only holding the head in his mouth.

Merlin was in a stupor of bliss. Arthur was sucking his cock, those pink lips slick around him as each stroke of Arthur's strong, calloused hands brought him closer to the edge. At any moment he expected to lose control of the fantasy and find himself back in his narrow cot, hands covered in his own cooling spend. But every time he opened his eyes, he was still in Arthur's bed, in his hands, in his mouth. 

Arthur sucked harder and took more of Merlin as he sped up his movements, hungry for Merlin's cries. Each one was a reminder that Merlin was his, and that he alone was responsible for dragging each ragged sound from Merlin's throat. 

"Arthur! Wait. Shh-hhh... " Merlin's hands scrabbled at his shoulders, stilling him. "If you keep going like that, I'll come--"

Arthur lifted his head and smirked. "I thought that was 'sort of the idea'."

Merlin sat up on his elbows and cocked his head. "I have a better idea."

Arthur's eyebrows rose. Merlin reached for Arthur's hand and moved it between his legs, behind his balls, and stroked at the soft puckered skin there. "If," Merlin hesitated, "Only if you want to."

"Gods...yes, yes I want to. But I've never...with a man ... what if I hurt you?"

Merlin smiled. "Well, I've never ... at all. But I know what I like by myself. I don't think you'll hurt me. And," here his voice lowered in a way that filled Arthur with desire, "I want you to have me. If you'll have me."

Arthur clambered over Merlin's body so fast he nearly took an elbow to the face, and kissed him deeply and hungrily. "Yes," he whispered, his lips brushing Merlin's ear. "Please, yes."

\-------------

It took more time than either of them wanted to work out the logistics of what came next. They were suddenly all knees and elbows, an awkward tangle of limbs changing position and hesitating and changing position again. Arthur was only concerned for Merlin's comfort. Merlin wanted to see Arthur's face. In the end, Arthur lay on his back and Merlin straddled his waist. 

Arthur grunted. "Wait, I forgot, there's a drawer by the bed--"

But Merlin had already leaned across him and with a reach of his long arm, retrieved a stoppered glass bottle from the chest beside them.

"How did you know that was there?" Arthur demanded sharply.

Merlin laughed as he unstoppered the bottle of sweet almond oil infused with arnica leaves. "Did you never think to wonder why it was always full? Who do you think washes your smalls and changes your sheets?"

Arthur reddened immediately. "It's for sore muscles, Merlin."

"Ooh, you must have been very sore these past months, _sire_." 

"Why you little--" Arthur sat halfway up and grabbed Merlin by the hair, pulling him in for a rough kiss. He could feel Merlin's smile against his lips.

They fell silent, unsure of how to proceed.

Merlin spoke first. "I think I need some ... preparation, before I can ..." He waved his fingers suggestively with an embarrassed smile. His eyes dropped to Arthur's cock, nestled against his own where he straddled Arthur. Even half-hard, it suddenly looked intimidating. "Should I just--"

"Wait--Can I?" Arthur interrupted eagerly. 

Merlin nodded slowly. Nervous as he was, he knew his eyes were dark with desire, pupils blown wide. "Just, um, go slow?"

Arthur held up a hand and smiled gently. Merlin took his cue and tilted the bottle, dripping oil to slide down the back of Arthur's hand and between his fingers, coating them. Merlin lifted up on his knees and leaned forward on his arms. Arthur rose up to kiss him, at the same time moving his hand against Merlin's thighs, around his slender hips, to stroke his cleft and find the soft warmth of his entrance. Merlin's breath hitched as Arthur circled his fingers slowly and then began to press gently inwards. Merlin exhaled shakily and leaned backwards into the touch, gasping as Arthur's finger entered him. He lowered himself to ease the way and Arthur began achingly slow strokes in and out. 

"Merlin?" Arthur called to him softly. Merlin realized he'd dropped his head and closed his eyes, trying to get used to the unfamiliar touch. Arthur's hands weren't like his own. Instead of slender they were thick and strong and rough from years of training and fighting. He felt Arthur's free hand under his chin, lifting his head. He smiled, a little shy in the moment, despite his desire. "Are you okay? We don't have to do this--"

"No," Merlin said warmly. "I want this. I want you. It's just new."

"For me too. We don't have to rush anything or--."

" _Mmmm_..." Merlin had begun to rock his hips and force Arthur's finger to move faster inside him. Arthur responded with a quicker pace. "There's a kind of, it's like a spot that feels good. It's not deep but if you crook your finger a little--ah-ahhh!" Arthur had taken his instruction immediately and touched a place inside Merlin that brought a gasp to his lips. "That's, _yes, oh Arthur, yes_ , like that..."

Arthur closed his own eyes then and sent all his awareness to the hand stroking Merlin, mapping the soft shapes and sensations. Merlin was rocking faster, rhythmically, forcing Arthur's finger inside him. "More," he urged.

Arthur obeyed, carefully letting a second finger join the first, waiting for the muscles of Merlin's entrance to relax and draw him in. As they did, Arthur reached deep and caressed the spot that had made Merlin gasp, and was rewarded by a surprised noise of pleasure. On instinct, Arthur took Merlin's cock into his free hand and began to slide his foreskin down and then nearly over the head in a strong, steady motion. He was surprised at just how vocal Merlin was, and he followed each breath and sound to guide his movements. Now Merlin rolled backwards onto his fingers and thrust up into his hand, keening with a mixture of pleasure and pain as his body began to accommodate the intrusion. "More."

A third finger, tightly pressed against the first two, entered Merlin. Arthur did not move, allowing Merlin to set the pace to his own comfort. Merlin felt his control weaken as he gave over to the sensations Arthur dragged from him. He found himself suddenly, achingly desperate to be filled. He pressed back and took more of Arthur's hand inside, shuddering when Arthur unfailingly found the sensitive spot inside. "Uhhhnnnnn..nnn...uhh..." He couldn't keep quiet or slow down now, and he couldn't believe that it was Arthur, _Arthur_ , doing these things to him. 

"Please .... oh gods, Arthur, please ..."

Arthur fucked him deeper, brushing against the spot each time, and waited. "What do you need, love?"

At that word, Merlin ground himself harder against Arthur. "I need ... Arthur, I need you. Need you inside of me, now, please." His plea was almost a whimper. The discomfort had vanished and was replaced by sensations of _want_ and _empty_ and _hunger_. He twisted his hips to guide Arthur to his spot over and over again. 

Arthur's heart thudded in his chest with anticipation. Slowly he withdrew his fingers, though he did not release Merlin's cock. Instead he guided his own length to the slick heat he'd abandoned, pressing the velvety head against Merlin's entrance and waited, hard and ready.

Merlin lifted his eyes to meet Arthur's. They were barely blue, between the candlelight and Arthur's widened pupils, but they shone back at him with adoration and awe. 

" _I love you_." Merlin heard himself breathe the words, and before Arthur could reply, sank slowly down, enveloping the head, then the shaft, and finally taking the whole of Arthur inside him. Arthur found himself sheathed in heat and pressure, Merlin tight around him. 

For a long moment, neither one moved. Merlin's senses were assaulted from within and without as he knelt, speared, split, filled with Arthur, who still fondled Merlin's cock. A strong hand touched the side of his face and Arthur's voice broke through the haze of sensation. "Merlin? Are you ... I mean ... is it alright?" 

Merlin's eyes were squeezed shut as he nodded, breathing through pursed lips. His body began to relax around Arthur, relishing the feeling of completion, as though he'd been empty his whole life and never known it until this moment. His breaths became slower and he realized the tension he was still holding as he let it flow from him. He became aware of his mounting pleasure as Arthur steadily stroked his cock. His eyelids fluttered open. There he was, golden hair shining by candlelight, eyes never leaving Merlin's face: his prince, his king, his _Arthur_.

Merlin's voice was a low and shaky whisper. "... mine?"

A smile spread across Arthur's face. "Yours," he answered warmly. "Merlin, I'm yours." 

Merlin dropped his head and stretched his hands out to rest on Arthur's broad chest. He couldn't contain his grin, even as tears of sprang to his eyes. _Mine, mine, mine_ , Merlin's thoughts chanted giddily. _He's mine_. 

Without intention, Merlin found himself beginning to rock back and forth slowly. Arthur's eyes widened and he struggled to let Merlin set the pace. He couldn't last long like this, even if he kept perfectly still. He was inside Merlin, surrounded by impossibly tight heat where their bodies were joined. Just the sight of it broke something inside him and his heart flooded with love and desire. 

"You can move if you--oh gods, _oh_ _gods, Arthur!_ " Arthur rose up beneath him, angling short strokes to find that spot inside. "Faster, yes, Arthur, I want more." Arthur didn't hesitate, releasing Merlin's cock to wrap his hands around his thighs. Gripping tightly enough to leave bruises, Arthur snapped his hips and thrust harder, following Merlin's cries for direction. Merlin's torso collapsed forward and his fingernails dug into Arthur's chest.

And then, from where his hands were clutched over Arthur's heart, something began to spiral. Arthur's eyes widened as he watched motes of gold begin to rise from beneath Merlin's hands. Merlin seemed utterly absorbed and unaware, but before Arthur's eyes the tiny sparks appeared almost to halo his lover. Like wisps of golden smoke, the tendrils rose between them--and not just from Merlin, Arthur realized, as he felt the almost familiar tug of Merlin's magic on him. As he allowed it, the magic sank into his skin, sang in his veins, raced to his heart. Arthur gasped and he looked up to see Merlin's eyes open, gleaming with amber, staring deep into his own. 

He felt it. Arthur's breath caught as sensations overwhelmed him. Impossibly, he felt open and filled and rocked to his core with every thrust. Merlin's eyes shone back at him, and Arthur knew he felt the tightness and the heat that enveloped his own cock. 

In one instinctual movement, Arthur pushed himself upright so that Merlin was sitting on his lap, legs tightening around his waist as the angle drove his cock deeper inside him. The sounds Merlin made were incoherent now, broken whines of need and desire, and Arthur couldn't tell whether he heard his own cries intermingled with them. Arthur tangled the fingers of one hand in Merlin's hair and gripped him with the other to drive him down, down, over and over again.

"Arthur, Arthur, _Arthur, I_ \--" And with only that warning, Merlin's orgasm broke over him and his thighs tightened around Arthur as he came, hot and sticky, between their bodies. Every candle around the room blazed to life at once, but brighter still was the light radiating from them both, pulsing with each wave of pleasure.

Merlin's cry and the sudden contractions around his cock stole the last of Arthur's resolve and he came with a final, deep thrust that took them both apart. Arthur clutched Merlin to his chest as the boy shook with sobs. He made soft shushing sounds against Merlin's ear as the shaking became trembling and then slowly stilled. Merlin made no move to rise, resting his head on Arthur's shoulder as Arthur gently rocked them. "I love you, I love you, Merlin, I love you," he found himself repeating in a whisper, gently running his fingers through Merlin's sweat-soaked hair.

\-------------

After a time--neither one of them could have said how long--Arthur slowly withdrew and caught Merlin as he raised himself on unsteady thighs. He eased the dark-haired boy down to rest on the softest of his pillows. For a moment he could do nothing but gaze, utterly undone by Merlin's beauty, by his trust. Eventually Arthur moved his heavy limbs to find the washcloth and returned to clean them both, touching Merlin as delicately as he would a baby. Merlin stirred only a little and whimpered when Arthur moved away, so Arthur simply dropped the washcloth by the bed and stretched out by his side. Merlin curled in towards Arthur, and Arthur slid the bedclothes over him before gathering his long limbs up in an embrace. 

They must have fallen asleep, though neither remembered when, but in the night they awoke to talk and to touch. The words came tumbling out, so long repressed. In the soft darkness they reconstructed the past. They wept for Will and for long years spent in fear and loneliness. They laughed for their folly and their fortune. They awoke again and again during the night, to love and then to sleep, and when they slept, they dreamed of sunlit days to come. The future was theirs, to face together, hand in hand; no longer something to run from, but towards.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is dedicated to my muse, Merlioske, and to my brother Ronin, without whom it would not exist. Both saved my story over and over again. Ronin combed through each chapter with his sharpest editorial eye--except for the sexy bits, because there's only so much you can ask a brother to do. ;) Merlioske rescued my plot more times than I can count, and although I owe her so much more, I'd like to specifically dedicate the above and all blow jobs written or drawn by me to Merlioske, in perpetuity. 
> 
> Thank you to each and every person who commented. Your words gave me life, encouragement, and inspiration. Thank you to every reader who took this journey with me. This is the first multi-chapter fic I've written and the journey has been tremendous, not least because it's taken place in the context of this damnable year of 2020. I hope each of you keeps safe and well as we face the future together. Thank you for being my community and for allowing my story to be part of yours. 
> 
> All the love,  
> Sunfall

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Only For You](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25644796) by [Sunfall_of_Ennien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfall_of_Ennien/pseuds/Sunfall_of_Ennien)
  * [Epilogue to Just don’t run away by Sunfall_of_Ennien](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25957981) by [Merlioske](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merlioske/pseuds/Merlioske)
  * [Can I?](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26207749) by [Sunfall_of_Ennien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sunfall_of_Ennien/pseuds/Sunfall_of_Ennien)




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